


Near Light

by KittieHill



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Angst, Arguing, Awkward Conversations, Awkwardness, Blow Jobs, Bottom John, Come Swallowing, Coming In Pants, Confessions, Dinner Party, Dream John in Uniform, Dream Military Kink, Dream Rimming, Dream Sex, Edited story, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Sherlock, John realises he's Sherlock-sexual, John's erotic dream, Lisping Sherlock, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Masturbation, Mrs. Hudson Ships It, Mutual Masturbation, Nervous Sherlock, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Premature Ejaculation, Reference to pegging, References to Torture, Rimming, Romance, SO MUCH FLUFF, See chapter for TW's, Sexual Inexperience, Sharing a Bed, Sherlock is a Brat, Slightly overwhelmed Sherlock, Sort of case fic, Stakeout, Swearing, Sweetness, Tattoo, Texting, Top Sherlock, Wet Dream, completed story, or attempted come swallowing anyway, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-04-24 17:43:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14360418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: John loves Sherlock to the moon,Sherlock knows that's 238,855 miles worth of love.A story of how two idiots work out how to love one another.





	1. The Stakeout

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a long time ago, but I wasn't happy with it. It needed extreme edits so I deleted it from AO3 and decided to work on it whilst my brain is unable to write new fics.
> 
> Not sure how often I'll be updating, but I have the first 7 chapters edited so it will be regularly. 
> 
> Not beta'd, but please comment! I love them.

The stakeout was dull; Sherlock had a hunch that the thief may strike that night despite it not fitting into the pattern, and had insisted to Lestrade that they spend the night watching the store alone and unimpeded by the idiotic Yard. John had agreed to back Sherlock up in the case so that Sherlock could utilize the full view of the upmarket boutique which Sherlock expected to be hit. John sat on the bed typing up their old cases as Sherlock sat in the window, his elbows balanced on the sill and holding his face as he stared out.

“So, you think it’ll be tonight?” John asked, purely to stop the silence in the room.

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t think so, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the rumour of my working on the case has reached him, therefore he may decide to risk it early,” Sherlock shrugged

“Want to get some lunch?” John suggested with an appreciative hum at the menu which he collected from the bedside table, “Room service apparently do a nice jacket potato?”

Sherlock waved his hand absently and in silence, leaving John to order for himself and settle back on to the comfortable bed. The hotel had hastily rearranged their guests in order for Sherlock and John to have the opportunity to use the room overlooking the boutique, leaving only one large double bed to share. The room was booked all night but John hoped their stakeout would be over before then, he didn’t relish the thought of having to share a bed with Sherlock.

_Alone, in the darkness, his body so close, the scent of Sherlock’s body and hair …_

John shook the thoughts from his head just in time as his food arrived; he ate it quickly, enjoying the top class tuna mayo on his potato before clicking on the television and settling on a quiz show, becoming angry whenever he tried to answer the questions only to be beaten to it by Sherlock who smiled at John’s annoyance.

The stakeout was a bust. The boutique remained unmolested and Sherlock eventually moved away from the window once it had become dark outside. He stretched his long body and used the toilet before flopping onto the comfortable bed,

“I'm going to remain here tonight,” Sherlock said with a touch of boredom “I don’t want to go back to Baker Street in case he does turn up and at least here, we’ll be able to hear any smashing”

John hid a grimace and nodded, “Yeah, if that’s what you want.”

Sherlock looked over at John with narrowed eyes before relaxing and shrugging “You don’t have to stay.”

“Well, there’s not much for me to do is there?” John replied with a glance at the small window. Sherlock's frame took up the majority of the space so even if something did happen, John wouldn't get a look in any way.

“No, suppose not...” Sherlock steepled his fingers “Although, if he does turn up I suppose I could probably take him down alone. He is known to carry weapons but I’m sure I’ll manage.”

John sighed in frustration and rubbed his face anxiously “Fine… fine, I’ll stay.”

The pair settled into bed just after midnight. As they hadn’t expected to stay overnight they stripped to their underwear and vests; John took the left side of the bed ( _his gun was hidden in the_ nightstand _provided_ ) whilst Sherlock took the right. John hadn’t expected Sherlock to be tired during a case, but Sherlock was quickly falling asleep, his eyes closing and blinking open immediately after as though desperately trying to hold off sleep.

“Sherlock, go to sleep.” John sighed watching his friend struggle with his exhaustion.

“M’fine...” Sherlock insisted, sitting up with his back to the headboard.

“You’re dead on your feet… or arse, whichever is most relevant to this situation,” John laughed “Just sleep!”

“John...” Sherlock whispered, clearly nervous “I-I- Well...”

John sighed and leaned on his elbow to look up at Sherlock’s nervous and pained expression “Spit it out, Sherlock,”

Sherlock took a deep breath “I sometimes… Not often… and probably not tonight...” he stalled, thinking of the right words “It doesn’t matter. Won’t be a problem. Goodnight John.”

John moved to protest but was shut down by Sherlock turning over and showing John his back.

John sighed and turned onto his other side so they were back to back ‘Night, Sherlock’

* * *

John woke as he attempted to turn onto his back, he had been sleeping on his bad shoulder for too long and the ache had woken him sharply. The doctor hissed and sat up rubbing his sore muscles in the darkness, he checked his mobile and saw it was 4.28am, still too early to get up despite the pain in his joints.

He looked over at the slumped, dark shape beside him. The detective had turned over in his sleep and now rested on his stomach, his face buried in the soft hotel pillow as he snored softly. John felt his heart tug with warmth at his flatmate and best friend, they had been through so much together that it was nice to see him so relaxed and peaceful. John realised he wanted to stroke through Sherlock’s curls, tell him that he was happy that Sherlock was home, that he felt complete again now that Sherlock was beside him. The problems caused by Mary had vanished and it was almost like the pair were back to how it was before the fall, before Moriarty or Magnussen.

John watched Sherlock for another moment before getting out of bed to use the loo and have a drink of water, swallowing two painkillers down as he walked back into the room. He stopped short of the bed and gulped nervously. Sherlock was still on his front, but he was grinding mercilessly down onto the mattress, his cock pressed against the firm surface as he thrust and wiggled his hips. Sherlock’s breath hitched and John held his own breath, afraid of being discovered watching the intimate display but realising that Sherlock was still asleep and breathing deeply. John was unsure what to do next but decided to quietly climb back into bed and forget it.

He lay on his back staring at the ceiling, feeling the small movements of Sherlock’s hips against the bed and trying desperately to convince himself that he wasn’t becoming aroused,

_John_

The doctor’s eyes opened wide as he turned his head towards Sherlock; the younger man was still sleeping, his cheek pressed against the pillow as his lips softly spoke and whimpered,

_Oh John, yes_

John’s heart hammered quickly in his chest, his cock was throbbing against the fabric of his boxers as he listened to Sherlock’s low voice speak his name. John knew he should do something, fake a loud snore… even a cough or sneeze to wake the detective so they wouldn’t be embarrassed in the morning but, he found that no matter what his brain screamed, his mouth wouldn’t follow. He stayed silent, watching Sherlock’s eyelids flutter as his lips part as he moaned again and again,

_John, John, Johhhhnn_

The last moan was choked and followed by a shudder as Sherlock came. John inhaled sharply and bit his tongue as he closed his eyes quickly, feigning sleep as Sherlock startled awake.

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck!” Sherlock swore in a hissed, quiet tone. The words obviously said in a panic as he flipped over and pulled the covers back to look at his soaked crotch.

John was astounded at hearing Sherlock curse, in all the years he had known him, he hadn’t uttered even a semblance of a swear word. John himself was a master of swearing, his knowledge and vocabulary unparalleled which made the illicit encounter all the more filthy as the rude words spilt from Sherlock’s lips,

“John?” Sherlock whispered shakily, “are you awake?”

John stayed silent, ensuring his breathing remained the same as he continued to pretend to be asleep. He heard Sherlock exhale roughly before standing from the bed and leaving into the bathroom.

The doctor waited until Sherlock was out of the room before opening his eyes and running his fingers over the wet patch where Sherlock’s cock had been, there was a small puddle of ejaculate staining the sheets and giving off the distinctive bleach smell of male semen. John bit his lip and wrapped his hand around his still hard cock, tugging it roughly in an attempt to stop the ache.

Sherlock, of course, chose that moment to re-enter the bedroom.

The two men stared at one another nervously, their shapes hidden by the darkness but evidently embarrassed at their situation,

“I erm… You okay?” John asked quietly, eyes wide with nervousness.

“Fine,” Sherlock spat, refusing to look at John as he turned off the bathroom light and stood in the semi-darkness of the hotel room.

“Sherlock…” John attempted, watching Sherlock wince at the tone, “It’s fine, honestly.”

The detective grabbed his trousers from the chair where he had folded them the night before and pulled them over his still damp pants before stalking to the chair beside the window and staring out into London silently, leaving John feeling guilty and more aroused than he had ever been in his life.


	2. The Day After The Night Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John had said goodbye to Greg who had to get back to the Yard and the three files of paperwork which needed to be done by his deadline. John smiled and bid Greg goodbye before deciding to go home and speak to Sherlock. It wouldn’t be a good idea to let the awkward situation fester between them and push them apart again, not after they had worked so hard to build their trust back up after the 'not dead' debacle. John walked quickly and determinedly to the flat, his shoulders back and squared as he marched through London, turning onto Baker Street and building his confidence before letting himself in and walking up the stairs.
> 
> He didn’t hear any noise so figured Sherlock was still sulking in his dark bedroom.
> 
> He opened the door to Sherlock’s room before he lost his nerve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter is pretty much filth. I'm not even sorry.

John had arranged cover for his shift at the clinic but couldn’t face going back to Baker Street where Sherlock had hidden himself in his room since they had frostily checked out of the hotel.

John had attempted to break the ice, offering Sherlock breakfast, tea, even the chance to watch his favourite trashy chat show but Sherlock had simply blushed and shaken his head before walking for a shower. John hadn’t heard from him since.

The doctor sighed and pulled out his phone, inviting Greg out for a breakfast which the DI gratefully accepted. The two men sat in a small greasy spoon café not far from the Yard chatting casually,

“Y’alright, mate?” Greg asked concerned at the awkwardness of John, who sat fiddling with the sugar dispenser, “What’s he done this time? Set fire to your slippers again? Dissolved your jumper?”

John shook his head and took a deep breath, “It’s weirder...”

“He didn’t try to poison you again, did he? Because I warned him about that last time.” Greg frowned.

“No. Nothing like that.” John winced, before telling Lestrade the full story of Sherlock’s night time session,

“Shit,” Greg groaned taking a bite of his bacon sandwich and chewing thoroughly before speaking again, “and he’s avoided you since?”

“Yeah. I mean, I told him it was fine. I shared a barracks with hundreds of men, so I have had plenty of experiences where blokes have… gone off during the night.” John rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “but it’s Sherlock we're talking about.”

“Mr My-Body-Is-Transport” Greg offered in sympathy,

“Exactly, so how do I tell a very frosty and emotionally inept man that it’s okay that you had a wet dream next to your best friend and roommate?”

Greg worried his bottom lip with his teeth before wiping his chin off with a napkin, “Not a clue mate, I’m sure he’s just embarrassed. Let him come around in his own time… if you pardon the pun.”

John chuckled slightly at the dreadful joke before changing the subject and asking about more simple topics.

“You won't tell him that I told you – about last night?” John asked as they finished their drinks, pulling on their coats and exited the café together.

“Believe me, I'm never telling another living soul.” Greg chuckled, slapping John on the shoulder, “I'm trying to delete it as we speak.”

* * *

Sherlock lay on his bed, his fingers steepled under his chin as he wandered aimlessly around his mind palace. He had already been to see Redbeard for a while, attempting to calm himself down after the incident but even his faithful friend didn’t seem to be able to help calm his jangled nerves.

Sherlock purposely avoided the ‘Dr John Watson Wing’ of his mind palace but couldn’t help himself occasionally straying into the opulent room filled with memories of John,

He should have warned John, he had tried, but not hard enough. His night emissions were frequent but he hadn’t expected to have one that night as he had manually stimulated himself to orgasm the night before and felt safe to share the bed. His shame and embarrassment had only been made worse when John had woken, seemingly accepting that it was okay to stroke himself in the bed that the two men had been sharing moments before.

Sherlock was angry, but he wasn’t sure why. He couldn’t blame John for waking up any more than he could blame himself for his emission. John may not have been touching himself actively, he may have been scratching. It seemed more logical to suggest he was merely scratching as Sherlock had lived with the man for years and never so much as heard a peep from John during his masturbatory habits (Once a night, every night). So it was obvious the doctor wasn’t an exhibitionist. Sherlock calmed his breathing and relaxed into his mattress realising he got the wrong end of the stick.

The detective realised early into his and John’s friendship that he had an attraction to the short doctor. The paradox of John’s personality had enthralled Sherlock, and each caring gesture or annoyed rant had only pulled the detective further into a teenage crush. But John was straight and was still recovering from the heartbreak of his marriage. Sherlock remembered the smell of John’s body beside him in bed, the warm aroma of John mixing with the hotel fabric softener which had obviously increased his arousal causing the emission.

There was also the dream;

Sherlock’s dreams were normally mundane and dull, he didn’t dream of flying or talking to animals. He dreamt that he was experimenting and waiting for the moment that the liquid changed colour or the acidic levels increased. Boring.

Occasionally his mind would surprise him with extremely lurid and filthy fantasies.

The previous nights had included John ( _as did all of his sexual dreams_ ) dressed in his Captain finery. The Soldier had ordered Sherlock to strip and the detective was surprised to see he was in his brothers office beneath the Diogenes club, Mycroft was nowhere to be found _(thankfully_ ) so Sherlock took his orders and undressed until he was standing flushed and naked beneath the picture of the Queen who seemed to stare down at him with a knowing grin.

Dream John walked behind him, he had Sherlock’s riding crop and ran the leather up and down Sherlock’s back, over his quivering arse and down his legs until Sherlock was sure his shaking legs couldn’t keep him upright. His body shuddered each time John touched him and his cock twitched and leaked copious strings of precome onto the lush, imported and extremely expensive carpet beneath.

“Over the desk,” Dream John insisted, his voice low and steady leaving no room for argument.

“Yessir,” he answered, bending himself at the waist so his chest rubbed against Mycroft’s cold wooden desk, his cock rubbing awkwardly against the sharp edge of the desk.

“Five strokes, soldier.” the Captain insisted, swatting his arse hard. Dream John smiled and cooed between each stroke, calling Sherlock his ‘clever little boy’ and 'my good lad' whilst stroking his pink cheeks softly, feeling the heat of his skin as the pink blush bloomed.

Sherlock lay on his bed picturing each detail. The way John’s hands felt on his hot skin, the feeling of the rough, uniform material pressed against the back of his legs as John stood close.

The smell of John beside him.

Dream John spread Sherlock’s legs until it was uncomfortable to hold himself upright against the desk. Taking off his hat John squatted until he was eye level with Sherlock’s most intimate place before pressing his tongue to the musky ring of muscle, licking and caressing his sensitive hole whilst his large hands spread Sherlock’s cheeks obscenely wide. Sherlock cried out, his face flushed and blotchy red as his cock twitched between his thighs, spilling more precome over the wooden desk and carpet as John feasted on his opening.

“Such a good boy,” Dream John cooed, “always so clever for me, I wonder, can my special boy come like this?”

Sherlock whimpered and pushed himself further onto Dream John’s tongue, babbling inanely as the pleasure mounted. Dream John quickly become frustrated at Sherlock’s lack of answer and spanked him roughly, demanding Sherlock use his words,

“Yes. Yes, I’ll come.” Sherlock cried, his climax already building and radiating out through his abdomen and spine.

John smiled and continued licking the hole, occasionally pushing his tongue inside to tongue fuck Sherlock slowly, driving him insane as Sherlock gasped John’s name breathily and desperately.

Suddenly Sherlock gripped the desk hard and cried out a warning of “John, John, Johhhhhnnn!” before he was coming hard, his cock twitching and unloading his sticky mess completely untouched.

Dream John smiled and stroked Sherlock’s back and arse before whispering “I love you, Sherlock...”

Then Sherlock would awake to a mess.

Sherlock realised he was close to coming already just from the memory. He reckoned that John wouldn’t be home for some time as he was working a shift at the clinic, so he quickly pulled down his pyjama bottoms and gripped his shaft tightly, tugging and stroking himself to build his pleasure.

* * *

John had said goodbye to Greg who had to get back to the Yard and the three files of paperwork which needed to be done by his deadline. John smiled and bid Greg goodbye before deciding to go home and speak to Sherlock. It wouldn’t be a good idea to let the awkward situation fester between them and push them apart again, not after they had worked so hard to build their trust back up after the 'not dead' debacle. John walked quickly and determinedly to the flat, his shoulders back and squared as he marched through London, turning onto Baker Street and building his confidence before letting himself in and walking up the stairs.

He didn’t hear any noise so figured Sherlock was still sulking in his dark bedroom.

He opened the door to Sherlock’s room before he lost his nerve.

* * *

Sherlock was lying on his back, cock in hand, stroking rapidly and lost in the throes of climax as the door opened wide and the subject of Sherlock’s fantasies stood in front of him.

Sherlock’s hips shuddered to a halt but it was too late, he was too far gone and with a broken cry of “John! Oh god, John!” Sherlock was coming over his chest and fist, spurts of come landing over his pyjama top and lower stomach as he squeezed his eyes closed with shame.

“Fuck...” John stammered, his eyes drinking in the sight of Sherlock losing control.

“Fuck!” Sherlock parroted, swearing yet again.

“Fuck,” John whispered before slamming the door closed and rushing to his own bedroom, freeing his erection as he went.


	3. The Following Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay,” John inhaled sharply, steeling himself for saying the words for the first time. “I love you, and I think I want us to be together… properly, I mean.”
> 
> “You’re sure?” Sherlock asked shocked, his heart thudding a frantic beat in his chest.
> 
> “Only if it means that it won’t change our friendship or working relationship. We need to make rules and follow them if it’s going to work...” John smiled.
> 
> “Rules. Yes.” Sherlock agreed with a smile, “John?”

The screeching sounds of the violin echoed around Baker Street as John entered the flat and walked up the stairs, his stomach ached and his head felt full and confused over the previous day’s events. He wanted to speak to Sherlock but the detective had insisted he was ‘fine’ and paced the living room.

Sherlock may have been fine, but John wasn’t.

The song Sherlock played wasn’t familiar, he was composing again which wasn’t unusual but he tended to only compose sad songs like this during periods of extreme emotion or stress which he felt he was unable to vent. John remembered the two occasions which Sherlock had composed sad songs, the first being the woman’s death, the second being John’s own wedding. John shook the idea from his mind and entered the living room,

“Hi,” he smiled at Sherlock,

“Evening,” the detective replied without turning around,

“Had a good day?” John continued grabbing the milk and teabags to make tea,

“Usual. You?” Sherlock asked, still playing the violin slowly,

“Yeah...” John sighed, realising that Sherlock wouldn’t be talking to him that evening either. “Well, I’ll be upstairs if you need me...”

“Why would I need you?” Sherlock spat, turning to face John shocking the doctor with red-tinged eyes.

 

**Two Hours Later**

Can we talk? We need to talk about this Sherlock – JW

No – SH

Are you going to move out? – SH

What? No? Do you want me to? – JW

No – SH

Okay, keep answering in one word. Do you want me to leave? – JW

No – SH

Have your feelings changed for me since we met? – JW

Yes – SH

Have those feelings become sexual? – JW

Define – SH

Do you want to have sexual contact with me? – JW

Yes – SH

Since before you came back? – JW

Yes – SH

Why didn’t you tell me? – JW

Scared – SH

Of what? – JW

Rejection. Embarrassment. Anger. Hatred. – SH

Do you really think id hate you for it? – JW

Unsure – SH

Do you want a relationship? – JW

Define – SH

God, this one-word thing is annoying. Okay, do you want to be my boyfriend? – JW

Maybe – SH

You’re not sure? – JW

No – SH

Why? – JW

Sentiment – SH

Now you answer. One word – SH

Okay – JW

Do you have feelings for me? – SH

Yes – JW

Are they more than friendship? – SH

Yes – JW

Do you want to have sex with me? – SH

Unsure – JW

Why? – SH

Inexperienced (best word I could find that summed it up in one word) – JW

Okay. But you have sexual urges towards me? – SH

Yes – JW

Do you want to be my boyfriend? – JW

Unsure (sorry) – JW

You’re not gay. It’s okay to be unsure – SH

Tea? – JW

Tea – SH

* * *

The two men met in the kitchen with an awkward tension between them. Sherlock stared at the blemished wood of the table whilst John sorted out the tea. The atmosphere was tense and unusual for both men who were unused to dealing with emotions and sentimental discussions together. John brought the tea over to his friend and sat opposite, their hands wrapped around their mugs as they stared at one another and attempted to think of something to start the conversation.

“Would you like to anally penetrate me?” Sherlock asked fixing his clear, blue eyes on John’s,

John choked on his tea and momentarily decided that choking to death would be preferable to this conversation, “Sherlock!”

“It’s a reasonable question if we are to partake in a relationship, John.” Sherlock rolled his eyes “I’m not sure how I feel about anal penetration and as a heterosexual man, I can’t imagine you have had much experience.”

John blushed and looked away, missing the moment of realisation in Sherlock’s eyes.

“You have had anal penetration before… but not with a man...” Sherlock steepled his fingers under his chin and hid a smile,

“Do we… do we have to talk about this?” John groaned in shame,

“Yes,” Sherlock insisted, raising an eyebrow with excitement.

“Fine,” John took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, “My ex. Gemma, she was a physiotherapist who enjoyed certain…. Kinks.”

“Explain...” Sherlock asked as he leaned closer, his eyes scanning John’s body language.

“Well, she wanted to try something called pegging...” John smiled bashfully, “I was surprised it didn’t have anything to do with clothes pegs. Thankfully, really.”

Sherlock huffed out a laugh and stayed silent, allowing John to continue.

“Anyway. Pegging is where a woman wears a strap-on. It’s a dildo on a harness basically. Then she takes you… anally.” John blushed crimson, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“You enjoyed it,” Sherlock said without judgement,

“Well… yeah.” John shrugged “It felt nice, prostate stimulation is always enjoyable but being under somebody and being taken… it relaxed me.”

“So, you would have no issue with me anally penetrating you?” Sherlock asked, eyes glistening with interest.

“Sherlock, please, just call it bottoming or fucking or something. Anally penetrating is far too textbook for my taste.”

Sherlock nodded and sipped his tea in silence for a moment before standing and sweeping out of the kitchen without a word. John startled and spilt his drink as he called out, “where are you going?”

“Out, John!” Sherlock called, slamming the door as he left.

John mopped up the spilt tea and picked up his novel to continue reading in his chair, finding it impossible to focus on the words he retreated into his mind as he thought about his discussion with Sherlock. His mind whirred as he thought about what the outcome of their changing relationship could be, would he and Sherlock become boyfriends? Or just friends with benefits? Would it change their living arrangements? Would Sherlock expect to sleep in John’s bed? Or want the doctor in his own? ( _Sherlock would have to clean his pigsty of a room before John slept in there_ ) and what about their working relationship? How would the Yarders feel about it?

John didn’t give two fucks what people thought.

The realisation startled him. Sherlock had done the impossible, he had died and come back to life like a fashionable and annoying Jesus. He had returned to John when John had needed him most, Sherlock had died for him, had killed for him and he was having a bit of a heterosexual identity crisis over a wet dream? He had known for years that he wanted Sherlock, so why was he so scared now the chance to touch the man he loved finally arose?

The man he loved.

John’s mouth went dry and his head thudded as he realised that he truly did love, Sherlock. Not in the ‘be my best man as I want the two people I love most’ way which he had insisted before the wedding. John was truly, madly, and deeply in love with the lanky, annoying git and he desperately needed to tell him.

* * *

Sherlock walked around Regents Park in large strides, his mind was working overtime at the thought of finally getting John where he had desired him for so long.

Sherlock’s mind spun wildly as he attempted to form a plan to deal with his feelings for John. It was obvious that John wanted to go further, his answers to their texts had allowed Sherlock to finally understand how John felt about him but the detective was terrified, his heart pounding wildly as he realised that his feelings may not just be lust… but love.

He needed to speak to John.

* * *

John was pacing the living room when Sherlock returned, the two men looked at one another in silence for two seconds before both began babbling at the same time. Words forming quickly flowing from their lips as the pair attempted to explain their feelings.

The men stopped and chuckled softly before sitting beside one another on the sofa,

“You first...” Sherlock insisted nervously,

“Okay,” John inhaled sharply, steeling himself for saying the words for the first time. “I love you, and I think I want us to be together… properly, I mean.”

“You’re sure?” Sherlock asked shocked, his heart thudding a frantic beat in his chest.

“Only if it means that it won’t change our friendship or working relationship. We need to make rules and follow them if it’s going to work...” John smiled.

“Rules. Yes.” Sherlock agreed with a smile, “John?”

“Hmm?” John responded, a soft and open smile on his face as he looked over at Sherlock.

“May I kiss you?” Sherlock asked with a pretty blush covering his cheeks,

John nodded and turned his body to face Sherlock, their eyes searched one another for a moment before Sherlock bent forward and placed a chaste, exploratory kiss on John’s lips.

Warm lips covered his own and John groaned into the sensation and scent of Sherlock so close to him, he stayed still for a moment more before licking his tongue across Sherlock’s lower lip, asking for permission to enter. Sherlock opened his lips and flicked out his tongue, touching John’s and feeling the electric shiver running through his spine as their first kiss was deepened.

Sherlock catalogued the taste of John in his mouth, he tasted like tea, biscuits and a hint of toothpaste. John’s scent tingled into Sherlock’s nostrils, the smell of cloves and spice, of deodorant and John’s own skin made every nerve in Sherlock’s body tremble with anticipation.

John moved his hand to cup the back of Sherlock’s head, pulling him closer as they snogged passionately like teenagers. His other hand moved to rest on Sherlock’s thigh, feeling the warmth of the detective’s body run through his skin.

Neither man fought for dominance, instead enjoyed the sensation of calm desire flooding their systems. When John finally pulled away for a breath he looked up at his best friend with new eyes. Sherlock’s usually clear eyes looked stormy and darker than John had ever seen, his perfect bow lips now glistening with a mixture of their combined saliva and his cheeks blooming a beautiful pink. Sherlock looked fucking gorgeous.

“You look beautiful.” John whispered before stopping himself with a nervous cough, “Sorry, forget I said that,”

“Why?” Sherlock asked puzzled,

“It was a bit too… slushy romance for what I expect you like...” John answered nervously,

“If you’re to be my boyfriend, shouldn’t you think I’m beautiful?” Sherlock asked with confusion marring his features “and you like romance...”

“I just… didn’t want to rush you,” John smiled, taking Sherlock’s hand and stroking the skin softly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and tutted in a way which said _John you’re an idiot_ without Sherlock having to vocalise his thoughts. John chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock’s lips, his hand stroking the silky threads of Sherlock’s curls.

“I meant it you know...” John whispered, his heart pounding, “about loving you.”

“Obviously,” Sherlock smiled “and the feelings are returned.”


	4. Cuddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The takeaway arrived quickly (Sherlock’s order was always put through immediately thanks to the detective helping the owner avoid a murder charge) and Sherlock offered to pay, rushing down the stairs and returning with a carrier bag full of containers. John moved to grab the utensils from the drawer but Sherlock shooed him away playfully, setting the table and opening the food with a bashful smile as he sat opposite his best friend and began eating his own meal. John smiled warmly and reached out to squeeze Sherlock’s hand once before moving back to his own food.
> 
> “I feel...” Sherlock began, before biting his lip nervously, “like I ought to explain my situation to you.”
> 
> John put another forkful of rice into his mouth and chewed cautiously, nodding for Sherlock to continue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No smut in this chapter - but there will be soon.

It was still early afternoon once the two men had finished their kissing session on the sofa. Neither man had plans for the day so decided on spending it together, whether that be curled up on John's chair, or laid out on the sofa. John made fresh tea whilst Sherlock tidied around a little, moving the piles of paperwork and folders from their resting spot around the sofa allowing both men to settle more comfortably. Sherlock ran to his bedroom and grabbed the pillows from his bed and returned rapidly, putting them against the armrest of the furniture and lying down on his side, his back pressed against the cushioned back of the settee.

Looking over his shoulder, John saw Sherlock fluffing up the pillows and checking there would be enough space for John to fit and his heart thudded warmly as he watched Sherlock set up a comfortable space for the doctor. John carried the two cups of tea through and put them on to the coffee table before sitting on the end seat of the couch. Sherlock looked puzzled and patted the space in front; making it clear that he expected John to be the little spoon to his big.

“Shall I put a film on?” John asked casually, watching Sherlock nod and take a sip of his tea “anything in particular?”

“Not really,” Sherlock shrugged and settled back down watching John grab the folder of DVD’s he had collected over the years. He flicked through the pages before settling on a shiny disk and pushing it into the TV, and nabbing the remote as he passed by to lie down beside Sherlock’s warm body. Sherlock’s cheeks blushed as John wiggled closer to him, attempting to find a comfortable position ( _which seemed to only exist when John’s arse was pressed directly against Sherlock’s crotch_ )

Eventually, the two men settled, Sherlock wrapped his arm around John’s midsection and entwined their fingers together as the dull sounds of the movie played around them.

The detective catalogued every atom of John; the way he smelt ( _toothpaste, deodorant, wool_ ) and how his hair flicked carelessly from his crown ( _small calf lick_ ). Sherlock listened to his friend’s calm and steady breathing pattern, counting each inhale and exhale; his fingers lingering on John’s pulse point to take his baseline.

There was almost too much information.

John had realised early into their spooning session what Sherlock was doing but shrugged it off as harmless. The detective had never been in a relationship ( _according to Mycroft and Sherlock’s own admissions_ ) which showed that he wasn’t entirely comfortable in these situations. John vowed to take it slowly, he had waited four years to finally have the chance to touch Sherlock intimately, and he could be patient for as long as it took for Sherlock to feel comfortable. He focussed his attention on the film, playing almost forgotten, it was something he had wanted to watch for a while but found that he couldn’t follow the storyline due to Sherlock’s close proximity, and the soft huff of Sherlock’s breath rushing down the back of his neck with each exhale.

John relaxed into the embrace, the feeling of Sherlock pressed against his back was perfection in itself and soon John began to feel sleepy. His eyes drooped and shut as he nodded off, his breathing going deeper before turning into soft purrs and snores which caused Sherlock to wrinkle his nose at how adorable John was before catching himself gazing and shaking away the silly sentimental thoughts.

Sherlock followed John into sleep soon after wrapping a blanket around them both; his chin resting on the top of John’s head as the pair dozed lazily.

* * *

Mrs Hudson had been baking all morning; her apron was covered in a fine dusting of flour as she brought the spoils up to the boys flat. Sherlock was a devil to feed ( _the man was far, far too thin_ ) and the landlady knew how much the detective loved her Blueberry Scones. She carefully carried the tray up the stairs being mindful of her dicky hip which had been hurting more than usual giving her traditional ‘Hoo-hoo’ greeting as she entered the flat.

The boys were asleep, curled together on the sofa looking so peaceful and content that Martha’s heart gave a twinge of affection for the kooky pair. She carefully and silently placed the scones onto the kitchen table, avoiding Sherlock’s microscope and experiment before slipping out of the flat as quietly as possible, taking a final peek at the two sleeping men. The look of peace on Sherlock’s face was one she had never seen before and it made her feel weepy as she looked over at Sherlock warmly.

John awoke to the feeling of slipping backwards as Sherlock moved away from his position on the sofa. The doctor let out a scared yelp before realising his surroundings and recognising that he wasn’t going to fall as Sherlock gracefully leapt from his spot and walked over the coffee table into the kitchen,

“John...” Sherlock whispered panicked,

“What? What’s wrong?” John replied, getting up and rushing to Sherlock’s side in the kitchen, expecting to find something dangerous or terrifying. He was surprised by the plate of scones sitting there on the decorative plate.

“Scones...” the detective whispered as though he was trying to solve a case.

“Okay…?”

“Mrs Hudson!” Sherlock hissed “she must have seen!”

“Seen what?” John asked,

“Us. Sleeping. Together.” Sherlock muttered, his face blushing.

“So? She’s seen you naked or wandering in a sheet. She’s survived an American with a gun, a bomb explosion, a sniper and you shooting the walls’ John soothed ‘I’m sure she can manage seeing you asleep.”

“But… but she’ll know,” Sherlock whispered, “She’ll know about us!”

John realised that Sherlock was worried that Mrs Hudson would tell somebody, Mrs Turner perhaps - and the news would leak out and force John to react in his usual ‘not gay’ manner. The doctor sighed and pressed his front against Sherlock’s back, entwining his fingers around Sherlock’s middle,

“Let people talk. They do little else.” John smiled, remembering Sherlock’s many similar reactions.

“…You don’t mind?” Sherlock asked nervously,

“Of course not,” John scoffed, “In fact, maybe I should wear a shirt with I’m with Sherlock printed on it and an arrow pointing to you.”

“Isn’t that normally I’m with stupid?” Sherlock asked, eyes squinting suspiciously.

“Nobody could ever say that about you, though.” John giggled and kissed Sherlock’s cheek

“Chinese?”

Sherlock grabbed a scone and shoved it into his mouth gracelessly grunting acknowledgement to John’s question.

“It’s the glamour I find so attractive,” John sighed, rolling his eyes comically.

The takeaway arrived quickly ( _Sherlock’s order was always put through immediately thanks to the detective helping the owner avoid a murder charge_ ) and Sherlock offered to pay, rushing down the stairs and returning with a carrier bag full of containers. John moved to grab the utensils from the drawer but Sherlock shooed him away playfully, setting the table and opening the food with a bashful smile as he sat opposite his best friend and began eating his own meal. John smiled warmly and reached out to squeeze Sherlock’s hand once before moving back to his own food.

“I feel...” Sherlock began, before biting his lip nervously, “like I ought to explain my situation to you.”

John put another forkful of rice into his mouth and chewed cautiously, nodding for Sherlock to continue.

“I-well – I have never been interested in sexual gratification. As you know, my body is transport and I only force myself to eat and sleep on your insistence.” Sherlock inhaled, “as for the – incident on the stakeout, well that happens due to the neglect of my sexual drive.”

“Yeah, your body will do that,” John added, still eating whilst trying hard not to show how intently he was listening.

Sherlock nodded and continued “What I’m trying to say…very badly… is that I’ve never done this before and I’m worried I will become startled, or I might mess something up between us.”

John smiled softly at his best friend and reached out his hand to stroke the soft skin of Sherlock’s knuckle “Sherlock, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I’m happy to live with you like we were before but now I get extra kissing and cuddles. If you never want to have sex I’m okay with that too… yes, I may be sexually frustrated, but I can live with wanking if it means I get to wake up next to you every morning.”

Sherlock blushed at John’s crude language but nodded, his brain suddenly clicking online at the last comment “Every morning?”

“Oh,” John panicked, “Well, I mean, I can sleep in my own room if you don’t want the company. I just thought…”

“I wake up earlier than you, sometimes I don’t sleep. Will you be forcing me to sleep? Because of this relationship? I don’t want to have to sleep in every morning, just to please you.” Sherlock snapped, his eyes panicked and his bottom lip worried between his lips.

“Silly arse,” John chuckled, “It’s fine.”

* * *

Later that evening the men were stretched back onto the sofa; their legs entwined around one another as they watched the news. John had insisted on being the big spoon due to Sherlock’s tenseness after their discussion, John didn’t want Sherlock to feel trapped and boxed in by John’s body pressing against him. This way, the detective had the opportunity to move if it became too much.

“Sherlock?” John whispered against the soft skin of the detective’s neck,

“Hmm?” Sherlock replied sleepily,

“Tell me if you want me to stop” John answered, his fingers skimming slowly through Sherlock’s curls, his fingers tangling occasionally in knots before moving down the long, pale skin of Sherlock’s throat and neck, his nails lightly raking the flesh.

Sherlock’s breath hitched as John’s fingers ran over a sensitive spot on his collarbone; Sherlock exhaled shakily and closed his eyes, basking in the sensations of John finally touching him. Taking this as a good sign, John ran his hands down Sherlock’s chest over the top of his clothing, sometimes stretching his fingers out, other times scraping his nails along, listening to the sounds escaping Sherlock’s lips as he was explored.

John wrapped his legs closer to Sherlock’s own, pulling them closer and enjoying the sensation of warmth passing between their pyjama clad skin. Sherlock huffed out a breath and moved his hand to rest behind him on John’s hip,

The doctor moved his hand under the thin fabric of Sherlock’s t-shirt and hesitated for a moment, stilling his movements until Sherlock nodded that he was okay. John rested his hand against the lower half of Sherlock’s stomach, touching the thin line of hair below his navel and enjoying the steady rise and fall of muscles beneath the warm, pale flesh. He continued higher, moving at a painfully slow pace; millimetres at a time.

When John’s nail caught on Sherlock’s nipple, the younger man jolted as though being struck by lightning. His entire body rising from the sofa before landing heavily with a gasp,

“God, Sorry.” John stammered, attempting to move his hand,

“Senthative...” Sherlock lisped before blushing “Sen-sa-tive.”

John pressed a kiss to the curls on Sherlock’s head before continuing at a slow pace; avoiding the sensitive nubs and moving to Sherlock’s clavicle and back down to the prominent hipbones where he stilled his hand as Sherlock began to move.

Sherlock turned to his other side, his chest and crotch now pressed against Johns. He returned his legs to their position, wrapping them around John’s before lifting his head for a slow and lazy kiss, years of tension and adoration pouring from him to be swallowed by John as their tongues met and Sherlock’s hand moved to grip John’s t-shirt tightly.

John allowed Sherlock to kiss him before running his hand through the man’s raven curls; Sherlock pulled away and met John’s gaze, their eyes clear and sparkling as they finally understood one another.

“Let’s go to bed,” Sherlock whispered,

John nodded and kissed a line of kisses down Sherlock’s throat, “Nothing sexual. We’re not rushing this. Just to sleep.”

Sherlock pouted slightly before nodding in agreement and moving to stand before looking down at his obviously tented pyjama bottoms, “Oh, erm… John.”

John smiled and looked at his best friend warmly “Do you want privacy? Or would you like to do it together? No touching though,”

“Would you… I mean…” Sherlock stammered, “God! I’ve never been this inarticulate!”

John smiled warmly and stroked his finger over Sherlock’s cheekbone, “What do you want me to do? I can come with you, or I can take care of myself in the bathroom, or my room. It’s up to you.”

“My room,” Sherlock blushed,

“Lead the way.” John grinned, entwining their fingers together tightly as Sherlock helped him up from the sofa.


	5. To Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock reached over and pressed a soft kiss to John’s sweaty forehead before frowning,
> 
> “I’m sorry.”
> 
> John wrinkled his forehead and turned to look at his lover “why are you sorry?”
> 
> “It didn’t last long. I didn’t. I ruined it.” Sherlock whispered,

John entered Sherlock’s bedroom and smiled; he had been inside Sherlock’s room hundreds of times but realised that the detective must have tidied up especially for them. Where clothes and trinkets were once scattered around the room, there was now space and organisation.

“Shall we… get in?” Sherlock asked nervously, lifting the cover from his usual side of the bed, and climbing inside and pulling the bedding up to his chin.

John nodded and climbed into the remaining side, his head rested on plush feather pillows which smelt freshly laundered with their lavender scented conditioner. The doctor had to admit that Sherlock’s bed was much more comfortable than his own with the ridiculously expensive thread count sheets and feather filled duvet. John felt himself relax into the mattress and turned to his side to look at Sherlock who was staring idly at the ceiling, lost in thought.

“Hey, hey, come back to me...” John whispered, stroking Sherlock’s face tenderly.

Sherlock blushed and turned to face his lover enjoying their close proximity before remembering the almost aching bulge in his pants which was calling for attention.

“John...” Sherlock mumbled, blushing crimson.

“Yeah, yeah I know, me too.” John chuckled, “starting to ache?”

Sherlock nodded and thanked a deity he didn’t believe in for John’s patience and sweetness.

“Okay, so how are we doing this?” John asked calmly, “you set the pace and I’ll follow.”

Sherlock nodded again and rolled onto his back rubbing his hand down the pale skin on his stomach where John had touched minutes before. He stopped at his waistband and looked over at John a final time before slipping his hand inside and gripping his shaft. John followed suit and dipped his hands into his bottoms, wrapping his fingers around his already leaking cock and giving it a gentle pull to try to stem the ache.

“I should warn you,” John whispered, “I’m not quiet… will that be a problem? I’ll try to bite my lip.”

“Don’t!” Sherlock gasped, “I want to hear you. Please?”

John looked into Sherlock’s eyes and nodded. He gripped himself slightly tighter and began lazily stroking his flesh in slow and gentle motions, his ears straining for any sounds of Sherlock.

The younger man had only stroked half a dozen times before realising was almost there; he could feel the tension accumulating in his abdomen and radiating outwards. His aroused mind began to panic as his body reacted with alarming speed and a whimper escaped his lips as he desperately tried to hold on longer,

Hearing the whimper, John turned to look at his lover; a pained look had crossed Sherlock’s face and he had scrunched his eyes up tightly, biting down on his lip hard enough to bleed. John stopped his own touching and stroked a hand through Sherlock’s curls, “What’s wrong?”

“Too close… can’t stop it… don’t want to come yet- OH!” Sherlock gasped, his muscles tightening and his eyes opening wide with distress.

Sherlock knew he had left it too late; there was nothing he could do to delay the inevitable release.

There was a moment of calm, a blissful wash of perfect pleasure before the long pulses of semen exploded from his slit, soaking his fist and lower stomach with ropes of pearly white come. The tingles of pleasure rushed through his body as the fluid was expelled from his body in ribbons, coating his skin and the fabric of his pants as he stroked himself through his climax.

John’s vision narrowed to Sherlock’s face; nothing else mattered in his world other than the look of pure ecstasy written all over the detective's features as he shuddered and jerked beneath the covers hiding the rest of his body from John. The hoarse croak and loud gasps had John immediately on edge and the doctor had to grip his base tightly to stop himself coming,

Sherlock’s free hand shot out grabbing for John’s shirt as the afterglow of his orgasm crashed over him and quieted his brain. John smiled as Sherlock gripped him tightly and whimpered breathlessly, the feeling of Sherlock’s breath on his neck was almost too much and John had to pull away slightly,

“Sherlock, that was amazing but I’m going to die if I don’t...” John blushed watching Sherlock’s gaze focus on John’s lips.

“Can I watch your face?” Sherlock asked nervously, happy when John nodded and replaced his hand on his cock, stroking quickly, becoming aware that he wouldn’t last long at all with Sherlock’s penetrating gaze focused on him.

“Tell me what you’re doing...” Sherlock whispered into the semi-darkness of the room, his eyes scanning John’s face and cataloguing every minuscule movement.

“I… oh god… My hand is wrapped around my cock and I’m just stroking it” John groaned, his toes curling, “I know I won’t last long because seeing you come undone had me on edge before I even touched myself. You’re so sexy”

‘Don’t say that,’ Sherlock chastised,

John bit his lip nervously, unsure of Sherlock's reaction to the compliment. Instead, he decided to focus on the description of his actions, “I’m rubbing my thumb over my slit, I can feel the wetness leaking onto my hand and I’m using it to stroke… shit, Sherlock … I don’t think I can last much longer.”

“Are you going to climax?” Sherlock asked breathlessly,

“Yes, oh god yes. Sherlock!” John cried, his back arching as the first wave of bliss rushed through his body causing a full body tremor. Sherlock watched enraptured as John’s eyes rolled back in his head and soft gasps escaped the doctor's lips.

“Yes… fuck yes.” John whispered as the first shot of come landed on his t-shirt just above his navel, four other large pulses followed immediately after, before John coaxed the remaining drops onto his bushy blonde pubic hair. With a gasp he released his cock and lay back on the comfortable mattress, panting to catch his breath.

The two lay in companionable silence as they enjoyed the relaxing sensations of their orgasms.

Sherlock reached over and pressed a soft kiss to John’s sweaty forehead before frowning,

“I’m sorry.”

John wrinkled his forehead and turned to look at his lover “why are you sorry?”

“It didn’t last long. I didn’t. I ruined it.” Sherlock whispered,

“Sherlock, I’ve just had one of the best orgasms of my life just from seeing your face as you came. It was seriously the sexiest thing that’s ever happened to me so please don’t feel that way.” John smiled and ran a clean finger over Sherlock’s cheekbone, “you were perfect”

Sherlock smiled bashfully before looking down at himself covered with a sheen of come and sweat “I’m disgusting.”

“Me too.” John laughed, “you take the first shower, I’ll go after.”

Sherlock nodded and carefully stood, smoothing the wetness into his pyjama fabric so it didn’t drip anywhere he walked to the bathroom and began the water.

John lay on Sherlock’s bed thinking carefully about his next move.


	6. The Case

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst and sweetness

The case was a welcome distraction from the heady and passionate snogging which the two new lovers had indulged in for over a week straight; neither had been outside for anything other than what was strictly necessary ( _toilet paper, tea bags, a bag of fresh toes and more money from the ATM machine)_ and both men were beginning to go stir crazy in the small space. The promise John made to not rush was becoming harder to stick to when Sherlock wrapped himself around John like an octopus, his sweet mewls of pleasure each time their cocks brushed against one another enough to drive John insane with hormonal desperation. Sherlock had blossomed since their first encounter under the sheets; he had allowed John to watch him masturbate on top of the covers _(still fully clothed, but it was a step closer_ ) and John had stripped bollock naked to stroke himself on Sherlock’s bed, allowing the younger man to catalogue each and every inch of John’s bared body.

John was beginning to wonder how much further his self-restraint could stretch before he ripped Sherlock’s clothes off and touched him until they both fell boneless to the floor when Sherlock’s mobile rang with a case. Lestrade had been quiet for a fortnight, seemingly swamped with paperwork and glad to have a distraction in the form of a particularly gruesome murder. Sherlock hung up and quickly jumped from the bed where John laid prone, his cock in hand, so close to orgasm that the doctor could almost taste it.

“W-what are you doing?” John asked, shocked.

“Case John!” Sherlock laughed, grabbing his clothing from various bureaus and walking into the bathroom to change “just hurry up and climax, and we can be there in 15 minutes!”

“Fucks sakes...” John hissed under his breath, his erection had subsided to half-mast and the urge to come had passed. John muttered under his breath as he tucked himself away and stormed to his bedroom to collect his own clothing, dressing quickly and checking his reflection before meeting Sherlock at the front door when the detective stood checking his Blackberry.

The pair left the flat and Sherlock hailed one of his miraculously appearing cabs from thin air. Climbing inside, Sherlock gave the cabbie the address of the crime scene and smiled at John who returned the genuine grin at his lover. Sherlock pressed a soft, chaste kiss on John’s lips before turning away and settling himself into his Consulting Detective persona. John knew he wouldn’t be receiving any affectionate touches whilst outside of Baker street and found that he was a little downhearted at the thought.

* * *

The crime scene was at the side of an abandoned train track. John grimaced as he looked over at the young girl lying beside the metal rails, her head broken in and disfigured to the point that he couldn’t make out any facial features at all. Sherlock immediately cleared the scene and walked around the outside, his eyes lingering for a long moment before darting onto the next clue, deducing the area quickly before pulling out his magnifying utensil and looking at the young girl’s fingernails.

John walked to where Lestrade stood; the DI was smoking a cigarette and looking despondent as he looked over at the victim,

“You okay mate?” John asked carefully, putting a hand on Lestrade’s shoulder.

“Yeah. Poor kid, she was only 16, same age as mine y’know. She’d been out here alone all night with her parents not knowing where she was or if she was safe.” the DI blew out a stream of menthol smoke and averted his eyes “Fucking hate this job sometimes.”

John nodded sympathetically and clapped a hand back on Lestrade’s shoulder “you know where I am if you need anything, Greg.”

Lestrade looked at John and nodded before clearing his throat “So, what happened with you two then? Get it sorted?”

John bristled and looked at Greg, his tongue wetting his bottom lip nervously as he stammered “Y-Yep. All good.”

“Must have been good considering how swollen and chapped your lips are.” Greg grinned,

 “It’s not… we’re not...” John started before sighing, “Yeah, it’s new but it’s good. Really good.”

Greg smiled at his friend and nodded, taking another inhale on the cigarette “I’m glad, happy you both got it sorted. You deserve to be happy… both of you.”

“Thanks.” John blushed slightly, thankful for his friendship with the older man.

“Truth is… I’m sort of seeing someone new too.” Lestrade admitted, “Early days, but I really like him.”

“Him?” John asked shocked before looking away, “Sorry, can’t really comment can I?”

Lestrade chuckled and inhaled a final drag of the menthol before flicking it away “Let’s see what he comes up with.”

John frowned before realising that Sherlock was striding closer to the pair; the detective stopped immediately in front of the two and skimmed his eyes over both men.

_John’s told him._

Sherlock set his features before looking over Lestrade, deducing him quickly.

_Hasn’t slept at his own flat for a week at least, using new moisturiser when he shaves. Smoking Low Tar Menthols (return to this at later date), recently met a male with whom he is having a sexual relationship with, genuinely cares for this person. His daughter is acting up at school and his wife is complaining and threatening to send her to live with him._

Lestrade allowed Sherlock to stare for a moment before clearing his throat and gruffly asking “So, what have you got then?”

“Young girl aged between 15-17, white, middle-class. Attends a local private school. Parents are financially stable but unhappy.” Sherlock reeled off the information without taking a breath, “I assume you found the boyfriend?”

Greg ran his hands over his face “Her mother insisted that she didn’t have a boyfriend.”

“Well, she didn’t know.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, “It was a suicide pact. My guess is that he’s from another religious or ethnic background and was told in no uncertain terms that he couldn’t be with this girl. The couple, deciding that they couldn’t be without one another decided to commit suicide together, however, with no access to guns or other implements, I deduce that they decided that he would hit her in the head with a heavy object and then hang himself. Finding that death by blunt force trauma is harder than it seems, he had to have numerous forceful goes at it before she died. He then ran away and left her here without raising the alarm. All of the information should be in her diary which I expect will be hidden under her pillow at home.”

“Brilliant!” John gasped without thinking, noticing that Sherlock’s face didn’t light up with the usual praise.

“Quite,” Sherlock replied before walking away from Lestrade only to stop three paces ahead and return to Greg’s presence. Greg nervously watched as Sherlock looked deep into his eyes and realised the identity of his new lover. Lestrade maintained Sherlock’s frosty glare before the detective bared his teeth and set off pacing towards the main road to hail a taxi back to Baker Street leaving John trailing behind.

As the pair reached the main road Sherlock hailed a cab and climbed inside “This one is mine. Take the next one.” he barked at John before giving the driver the address and driving away leaving John confused on the pavement.

* * *

John returned to Baker Street wet and angry. The rain had begun shortly after Sherlock had left and with no taxis in the area, the doctor was forced to walk the 30-minute journey home. His feet squelched in his shoes as he climbed the stairs to their flat, stopping at the top to listen to the sound of Sherlock playing a song John had never heard.

The sounds were melodic and dark; a perfect mix of angst and feeling as Sherlock poured out his innermost demons with the use of a bow. John stood listening until the tune stopped and Sherlock was silent; he pushed open the door and looked at Sherlock standing forlornly in the middle of the living room, his clothing covered by the pale blue robe as he stood looking sightlessly out of the windows.

“Sherlock?” John asked nervously, “You okay?”

“He’s seeing someone,” Sherlock murmured almost too quiet to hear,

“Lestrade? Yeah, he seems happy,” John smiled as he took off his sopping wet coat and hung it on the peg to dry,

 “Hmmm.” Sherlock hummed, “And you told him about us?”

"Well… no… he just sort of knew...” John admitted, toeing off his shoes, “he is a Detective Inspector you know, and after the other night he had an inkling.”

“The other night?” Sherlock asked as he wheeled around “What other night?”

John swallowed nervously realising that he had put his foot in it

“The night of the stakeout,” John admitted,

Sherlock blanched pale and glared at John, “You told him about that?”

“I was freaking out, Sherlock!” John shouted, anxiety raising to a desperate level, “I needed to talk to someone and you wouldn’t speak to me and I thought I would go mad.”

“So you told our work colleague about me having a… night emission beside you? And I’m supposed to be okay with that?” Sherlock hissed angrily, “As if they don’t mock me enough as it is!”

“Greg isn’t like that,” John insisted, “He’d never say anything about it, you know him. He’s known you a lot longer than me; he’s seen you at worse… moments.”

“Oh, the drugs come up. How very mundane.” Sherlock spat, his hands gesturing wildly as he paced madly, “I wondered when that might. Look at silly Sherlock with his drug habits and unusual behaviour. Let’s watch him dance like a trained circus monkey whilst everyone else talks behind his back.”

“That’s not fair.” John grimaced, “It’s not like that at all, Sherlock.”

Sherlock glared at John as he pushed past him towards his bedroom, “Oh and John. Lestrade is _fucking_ my brother. I’m going to bed, you may not join me.”

The bedroom door slammed hard enough that John felt the walls shake slightly around him.

Pressing a hand to his eyes, John groaned, _I’ve really fucked this one up_

* * *

John walked to his bedroom and sat heavily on the bed; his clothes were still sopping wet but his heart felt heavy and his chest was tight. He stood and paced for a while before retreating into the shower to clear his head.

His mind whirled as he attempted to think of a way to explain his behaviour for Sherlock to understand. He knew that neither of them were good with emotions or feelings but ignoring the issue and allowing it to come between their finally available relationship was too soul-crushing to imagine. Dressing in his pyjamas he returned downstairs and made himself a cup of tea before sitting himself outside Sherlock’s door, his back to the wall and his legs curled up uncomfortably so his toes could rest on the opposite skirting board.

“Sherlock?” John said softly, “I know you’re angry and I deserve it. Completely. You have every right to be pissed off but I want to explain… You don’t need to speak but please just hear me out.”

John took a deep breath and began his inner thoughts, letting them spew out without thought or reason “I love you so much, it hurts and it frightens me. I’ve never been with a man before, never thought about being with a man, never even considered the possibility of touching a man before… and then you came into my life. With your ridiculous cheekbones and your swooshy coat you intrigued me and even in Bart's that first night we met, I think I realised that there was something unusual and magnetic drawing me towards you. When Mycroft kidnapped me and offered me the money, I realised I could never let you down or hurt you in any way. You were immediately special and lodged yourself in both my mind and heart; it grew from there really, I couldn’t bear the thought of you losing the bet with the cabbie, so I shot a man in cold blood.” John chuckled, “although granted he wasn’t a very nice man, I killed him. To save you, because even as early as that night… I knew you were going to save me, had already saved me.”

John could feel the first whispers of emotion building inside him as he continued, “I was broken before you, the night before I met Stamford I was going to kill myself. I had my gun on the desk and was staring at it, wondering how easy it would be but I couldn’t go through with it because of Harry and how it might affect her. I think it was fate that I limped into your world the next day and you fixed me. The running around London was everything I needed… and still, need. When you saved me from the pool, the way you reacted to the old ladies death and the bombs. You’re not a sociopath, you’re phenomenal and I’m blessed to be your friend.”

A single tear dripped down John’s cheek and was quickly wiped away

“And then the other cases, Baskerville when I saw you cry for the first time when you were truly scared and vulnerable. Opening yourself up for me to see… and yes okay, you may have spoilt it slightly by trying to drug me and scare the shit out of me.” John laughed, “but seeing you in your element, working out the puzzle that would stump even the greatest of minds was a privilege. I realised I loved you when we met _the woman._ I saw how you respected her, how you were intrigued by her and it hurt, my stomach ached every time that moan came from your phone knowing that _she_ was getting your attention.”

John began to feel foolish, sitting with tear stained cheeks talking to a wooden door but he knew he had to go further;

“Then the fall… the thought of all of those people thinking that you were a fraud; Jesus, Sherlock it made me so angry that people thought that of you but I couldn’t do anything about it. Mycroft called occasionally and Lestrade popped by with a box of your stuff from the Yard but eventually, all contact dwindled until I was alone, I was so alone again and I considered it again… My life without you was meaningless once more but by then I had met Mary and decided to try to move on. If I couldn’t be with you then I had to try with somebody.”

John thought he heard a scraping and movement from behind the door but continued

“She was nice and interested in me, and although she could never compare to you, she was enough for a while. I could lose myself in her, I went back to therapy and the clinic but I could never walk past Baker Street. Knowing that you weren’t there and it was no longer home was enough to physically hurt. I used to sit at your grave for hours, ranting or crying, begging and bargaining for you to return.”

“I heard you.” A deep rumbling came from the other side of the wooden door “I was there.”

John choked back a sob and rested his head against the cold wood;

“Then when you came back, I was so angry but more than that, I was so absolutely delighted that you were back but by then I was with Mary and thought that things had changed. I wanted to try to make a go of it, I thought we had missed our chance and everything had shifted. The wedding, the baby, the shooting, Magnessun. It made me realise that life is too short and damn it all if I don’t want to spend what’s left of my life with you.”

“But Lestrade...” Sherlock whispered nervously, “Why did you have to talk to him?”

“Because I was freaking out Sherlock, I finally had everything I’d ever wanted! I had you, I had understanding that you wanted me as much as I wanted you and _fuck I was so confused!’”_ John sobbed, his emotions crashing over him, “I needed somebody, anybody to talk to and if I had the skull available I would have talked to him but unfortunately he was with you so I had to make do with the next best thing.”

Sherlock chuckled tearfully from behind the wood and scoffed “The skull is better company.”

John laughed along with Sherlock, “Please tell me we’re okay, tell me you need time or you need space but please don’t tell me we’re over.”

The door to the bedroom was hastily opened where Sherlock stood; his eyes red-rimmed and his nose wet as he looked down at the doctor sitting on the cold floor, his legs cramping and his shoulder aching.

“You’re a bloody fool, John Watson,” Sherlock whispered before pulling John up to stand beside him and leaning down to kiss his lover. Their lips met softly at first as they both wrapped their arms around one another with desperation before blooming into something more passionate and needy. Sherlock was the first to pull away, resting his forehead against John’s and looking down at the watery blue eyes beneath.

“I love you,” Sherlock whispered,

“I love you more,” John replied with a smile,

“I’m not sure that’s possible,” Sherlock teased,

“Maybe we should do an experiment,” the doctor suggested,

“Too many variables.” Sherlock scoffed, “Tell me how much.”

“I love you to the moon.” John smiled,

 “That’s 238,855 miles worth of love,” Sherlock hummed, “that is rather a lot.”

"Been brushing up on the solar system have we?” John teased with a smile and a soft kiss to the corner of Sherlock’s lips.

“Okay, well then I love you 238,855 miles worth.” Sherlock smiled, “Will that be enough?”

“I think so,” John grinned running his thumb over Sherlock’s cheekbone and kissing his partner once more.


	7. The Victim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m different… my body.” Sherlock shuddered, “Before, it was just transport. I was never bothered about being seen naked or undressed because I wasn’t interested in what people thought of my body.”
> 
> “Surely you know I adore you regardless?” John asked, genuinely pained at the thought that Sherlock was embarrassed about his looks.
> 
> Sherlock blushed and pressed his face closer to John’s chest, “John, please.”
> 
> “Okay, okay. Can you just tell me the main problem? I want to work on it Sherlock, I want to see you… all of you.” John reassured
> 
> “I’m scarred and broken,” Sherlock whispered, tears forming in his eyes.
> 
> “Oh, you silly git.” John soothed, pressing kisses onto the dark curls covering Sherlock’s head “We’re both scarred and broken, but at least together, we fit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW mentions of torture, scarring, body issues and murder

Sherlock dragged John into his bedroom and curled up next to him on the bed; the brunette curls resting against John’s chest, listening to the steady _thrum thrum thrum_ of the doctor’s heartbeat as John stroked a hand up and down Sherlock’s spine over his shirt.

The post case and argument adrenalin quickly faded, leaving the two men sleepy and drained in one another's arms. John pulled the duvet around both men and fell to sleep, listening to Sherlock’s gentle snores beside him,

Sherlock woke first, an hour or so had passed since they had collapsed into bed together after their first official row and Sherlock found that he was tempted by John lying beneath him. The detective checked that John was still sleeping before pressing soft kisses along John’s neck and jawline, his fingers trailing behind his lips to ensure every inch of John had been tasted and catalogued. Sherlock hiked up John’s t-shirt until it was resting around the older man’s armpits, rolled up to free John’s creamy coloured chest and the one place which Sherlock had been determined to taste for years.

John’s scar was silvery white, a small entry wound leading to a star-burst on the opposite side of John’s shoulder. Sherlock ran his nose along the scar, nuzzling and noticing the very light freckles which covered John’s skin. He extended his tongue and ran it over the crinkled skin, enjoying the texture and taste of John’s salty sweat; Sherlock viewed it from all angles, memorising every hair which surrounded it for his own storage in the Mind Palace.

He hadn’t realised that John had awoken; the doctor lay silent, his breathing steady as he felt Sherlock stroke and prod his ruined shoulder. He hid a smile at the first delicate touch of Sherlock’s tongue on the silvery scar, determined not to scare Sherlock off by drawing attention to himself.

Sherlock travelled further down his lover’s body, mapping out each sensitive point on John’s body ( _beneath the third rib, just around his areolas, the dip in his throat)_ before moving to free John of the distracting pyjama bottoms he was wearing. John smiled and helped as much as possible without drawing attention to his awakened state, wondering what Sherlock had planned.

He found out when Sherlock ran a long, callused finger along the outside of his semi-hard cock, following the largest vein from base to tip and watching the shaft quickly engorge with blood at the promise of his much-mourned orgasm from the morning. A moan escaped John’s lips as he grabbed Sherlock’s hair tenderly, stroking through the curls as Sherlock’s colourless eyes met his own,

“Is… is this okay?” Sherlock asked nervously,

“God, yes.” John groaned, pulling Sherlock up for a long, deep and passionate kiss full of tongues and promise.

Sherlock pulled away and returned to his spot beside John’s hip, his head lingering above the patch of hair which dusted John’s pubic area. John moved a hand behind his neck as he watched Sherlock tentatively wrap his hand around John’s cock and look up for guidance. John nodded with a smile causing Sherlock to jump into action, his hand moving slowly but firmly up and down the velvet steel erection which was already starting to leak copious fluids over Sherlock’s thumb as he stroked the slit. John groaned low and closed his eyes, aware of how intense the orgasm would be after his inability to finish that morning.

Sherlock checked John’s face and realised that the older man had closed his eyes in pleasure; smiling to himself, Sherlock moved to press a soft kiss on the very tip of John’s cock, tasting the pre-come smearing itself over his lips as he licked and nuzzled the slit, rolling the strange musky taste into his mouth and memorising the flavour.

“Fuck, Sherlock!” John growled deeply, “Jesus.”

Sherlock chuckled and stroked the shaft harder, kissing and licking at the tip as his hand and lips worked in tandem to bring John closer to his peak. The younger man flicked his tongue into the now gaping slit, tonguing the wetness from the opening as his other hand moved to cup and roll John’s balls in his palm.

John was almost desperate and on the verge of begging. His brain was desperately trying to savour the feelings whilst his body was screaming for more; he was quickly rewarded as Sherlock chose that moment to push as much of John’s cock into his mouth and throat as possible, the weeping tip touching his soft palate and causing him to gag and swallow slightly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” John grunted, his toes curling and his eyes rolling back as he grabbed Sherlock’s hair tightly and pulled his head from his cock forcefully, aware that the load would be bigger than usual from his denial and worrying that Sherlock would panic or choke on the liquid.

Sherlock huffed out a confused breath which quickly died on his lips as he watched John’s cock twitch against his lower stomach before exploding with long, white pulses of come. John released Sherlock’s hair and grabbed for his twitching cock, stroking himself roughly in an attempt to drag out the pleasure as much as possible. Sherlock gasped as John’s come shot flew over John’s shoulder to hit against the leatherette headboard, a second and third rope landing on John’s open lips and cheek before the remaining spurts trailed over his chest, stomach and pubic hair.

John cried out in absolute bliss as his body seemed to shatter into shards of pleasure. His cries of amazement forcing Sherlock to stare down at the doctor in awe as John screamed Sherlock’s name in between curses and vulgarity. Sherlock breathed heavily for a long moment as John’s mind refocused itself to its surroundings, the doctor gave a pathetic mewl as he nuzzled his nose against Sherlock’s cheek and placed a soft and tender kiss on the corner of the perfect bow lips. John’s entire body felt like lead as the afterglow of his orgasm stretched on, weighing him down to the mattress.

Sherlock pressed his lips to John’s own dry and chapped ones, gasping as he flooded his own pants and trousers with ejaculate almost untouched, John ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, giving reassuring whispers directly into Sherlock’s ear as the detective shuddered from his climax.

Sherlock realised that John was completely boneless after his orgasm and rolled his eyes comically, muttering under his breath _not your housekeeper_ as he walked towards the bathroom for a flannel, yelping when John placed a heavy spank on his plump arse as he passed.

“Shurrup.” John smirked, “Your fault.”

“Hardly.” Sherlock grinned, his cheeks flaming red, “I hardly touched you.”

“Coz’ you’re so sexy.” John grinned, watching Sherlock return to the bedroom with a wet flannel and sodden pyjama bottoms. Sherlock passed the wet rag to John as he picked up a fresh set of night clothes and returned to the bathroom to change without John seeing.

John cleaned his body of cooling come, giggling as he realised where the first strip had landed and was slowly trickling down the black leather towards Sherlock’s pillowcase. He wiped it up and threw the flannel in the general direction of the wash basket before relaxing into the bed once more, waiting for Sherlock.

* * *

Sherlock cleaned himself as much as possible without a shower and redressed in fresh pyjamas, washing his face and brushing his teeth he clicked off the bathroom light and curled back into bed beside John. His cheek resting on John’s shoulder as John wrapped his arms around his lover and placed a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Sherlock?” John whispered as they lay dozing together in one another’s arms, listening to the passing London traffic.

“Hmm.” Sherlock hummed, not moving.

“Why won’t you let me see you undressed?”

Sherlock stiffened in John’s arms and cringed at the thought of explaining his neurosis to the man he loved.

“Hey,” John whispered, pushing Sherlock’s chin up until they were looking at one another “Don’t pull away, it’s okay, you’re safe. You can tell me.” he soothed,

“I… I….cant” Sherlock whispered sadly,

“Sherlock, before now I’ve seen you undressed countless times. Stitched you up, bandaged you, carried you around when you sprained your ankle… not forgetting the hilarious incident of the Palace Sheet incident.” John chuckled, “Why won’t you let me see you now?”

“Because it’s different.” Sherlock choked,

“Why?” John asked,

“I’m different… my body.” Sherlock shuddered, “Before, it was just transport. I was never bothered about being seen naked or undressed because I wasn’t interested in what people thought of my body.”

“Surely you know I adore you regardless?” John asked, genuinely pained at the thought that Sherlock was embarrassed about his looks.

Sherlock blushed and pressed his face closer to John’s chest, “John, please.”

“Okay, okay. Can you just tell me the main problem? I want to work on it Sherlock, I want to see you… all of you.” John reassured

“I’m scarred and broken,” Sherlock whispered, tears forming in his eyes.

“Oh, you silly git.” John soothed, pressing kisses onto the dark curls covering Sherlock’s head “We’re both scarred and broken, but at least together, we fit.”

Sherlock tearfully nodded and looked up at John, kissing him softly before nuzzling back into the comfort and safety of John’s embrace “Night John.”

“Goodnight,” John replied,

“238,855 miles worth?” Sherlock whispered into the darkness,

“Obviously.” John grinned.

* * *

Lestrade sat in his office rubbing his temples tiredly; he wanted nothing more than to escape the drab building and return to Mycroft’s townhouse, have a ridiculously hot bath and curl into his lovers embrace. He hadn’t intended Sherlock to realise so early into their relationship as he wasn’t sure how Mycroft would feel about it, but hiding anything from the git was almost impossible when Sherlock could probably deduce it from the hangnail on his little finger. Greg sighed and shuffled the folders on his desk once more in an attempt to make them spontaneously combust ( _to no effect)_

“Sir?” Donovan’s voice came from the doorway, her features set into a look of concern,

“Yeah.” Greg looked up,

“We’ve found the boyfriend,” she spoke softly,

“Well, bring him in for questioning, Sally.” Greg sighed, angry that he had to explain policing 101 to someone who claimed to be a detective.

“He’s dead, sir… and I think you should call the freak.” Sally grimaced before leaving.

* * *

John was making tea as Sherlock’s phone began to ring; Sherlock’s sleep gruff voice answered and vibrated around the flat as he spoke to the caller. John pushed down the arm of the toaster and watched it become red hot and begin to brown the bread,

“John, case. They’ve found the boyfriend!” Sherlock spoke as he entered the kitchen to press a kiss on John’s cheek.

“Okay, I’ll get dressed. You eat these.” John insisted as he buttered the toast and passed Sherlock his own cup of tea, Sherlock began to argue until he realised that John wouldn’t be moved. Taking a small bite he gave one of his fake smiles as he chewed.

* * *

“Christ,” John grimaced as he looked over at the body, “Someone really did a number on him.”

“Astute observation,” Sherlock dead-panned as he wandered around the body, checking the wounds and surrounding foliage.

The young man ( _previous victim’s boyfriend, aged 22, Asian male, worked with his hands)_ was tied to a tree; his arms behind his back and his head hanging low on his chest. He had been found by a dog walker ( _who was transported to the hospital in shock)_ after being reported missing by his family the night before.

“So, what can you tell us?” Lestrade asked Sherlock tensely, avoiding all personal topics.

Sherlock’s face looked pale, his lip trapped between his teeth and his eyes wide as he looked over the scene “J-J-John...”

“Sherlock?” John asked, grabbing Sherlock around the middle and holding him up as Sherlock’s legs began to wobble unsteadily. Lestrade looked on in alarm as Sherlock broke down completely, tears forming in his eyes as he gripped John tightly.

“Everyone leave. NOW!” Lestrade ordered, watching the numerous CSI’s and detectives look at him quizzically before walking from the scene leaving the DI, John and Sherlock alone with the body.

“It-he...” Sherlock gasped before calming his breathing, “He was tortured. Prolonged by the look of it.”

Greg and John shared a look before glancing at the bleeding corpse and back to the detective.

“He was alive when he was tied to the tree, strains on his wrists show he tried to escape. The people who did these were not professionals, you can tell by the shallow and uncoordinated cuts which litter his body, they were learning as they went on.” Sherlock listed, “There is also a white residue over some of the deeper cuts which I think is sodium, plain table salt. They rubbed it into his cuts to hurt him more.”

“Jesus,” Lestrade grimaced,

“Based on the coagulation of the blood on the smaller cuts; I think he had been here a few hours before they killed him. Stabbed numerous times with a bladed object before his throat was slashed.” Sherlock winced, “But they didn’t do a good enough job. He bled out slowly.”

“So, not professional hit men or murderers, who do you think?” John asked nervously,

Greg and Sherlock answered at the same time, in the same cold, dispassionate voice “The girlfriend’s parents.”

* * *

Lestrade had arranged for Sherlock and John to be taken home to Baker Street in an unmarked squad car as Sherlock was still shaky and pale from the crime scene. Greg and John shared a concerned look and John promised to text and let the DI know how Sherlock was later in the day. Greg patted John’s shoulder kindly and began organising his team to collect evidence and cut down the body.

The car journey was quiet; Sherlock was silently staring out of the window unseeing. His eyes had glazed over, making John realise that he was wandering the passageways of his mind palace. John thanked the officer who had been given the task of driving them home and helped Sherlock climb from the car and into the warmth of the flat.

As soon as the door was closed Sherlock slumped; his hands grabbing John’s jumper and his head rubbing against John’s tight thigh.

“Sherlock? We need to get upstairs.” John soothed, stroking the curls from Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock seemed to be catatonic, completely spaced out and in his own world as John sighed and lifted him, carrying him bridal style up the stairs with difficulty before placing him softly onto the sofa and flicking on the kettle. Heaping sugar into Sherlock’s favourite mug he took the offered drink to his lover and sat down beside Sherlock,

“Talk to me, tell me what upset you.” John soothed, stroking the sweaty curls from Sherlock’s forehead.

Sherlock shook his head, instead standing and pulling off his coat and suit jacket, wordlessly unbuttoning his shirt until he stood topless and pale in the light of the living room. John’s heart thudded louder as he watched Sherlock silently stripping, tears streaming over his cheeks as he bared himself for the first time.

The first scar John noticed was the bullet hole which Sherlock had received from Mary; the scar still pink and fresh marred his side. John swallowed nervously and flicked his eyes up to Sherlock’s own colourless pupils, noticing how anguished the younger man looked.

Sherlock took a deep breath and turned to face away from John, hearing the doctor gasp at the criss-cross pattern of scars which covered Sherlock’s entire back. His heart pounded and he felt sick, feeling as though he was going to faint, Sherlock, gripped the side of John’s chair and held tightly, taking deep breaths as John began to softly sniff with emotional distress.

“My god,” John whispered, “Sherlock...”

“It’s okay, John.” Sherlock replied, “I understand that it’s ugly. I won’t show you any more. I just wanted you to understand.”

Sherlock was startled by the sound of John walking towards him, placing a hand softly on Sherlock’s shoulder he pressed small, delicate kisses on his lover's neck and shoulder blades.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” John soothed, his hand stroking over the bumped skin of Sherlock’s back “Ever.”

“I just… seeing that man. It brought it back,” Sherlock whimpered, “I thought I had dealt with it,”

“It takes time, Sherlock.” John whispered, pressing another kiss to Sherlock’s ear, “You don’t have to do it alone.”

“I wasn’t alone. I had Mycroft.” Sherlock replied, “but he wasn’t you.”

John chuckled and pulled Sherlock closer into an all-encompassing hug. Smothering Sherlock’s face in tiny kitten kisses, “We’ll tell Lestrade we’re not taking any more cases for a week or so.”

Sherlock moved to argue, only to be silenced by John’s lips against his. He nodded and sighed against his lover.

“Come on, let’s have some lunch.” John smiled, stroking a calming hand down Sherlock’s spine and mentally promising that he would protect and love the detective until they both turned to ashes in the wind.


	8. Brotherly Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The older man continued dancing around the kitchen, tidying away the crumbs and Sherlock’s latest failed experiment without realising he had an audience. Mycroft stood in the doorway with an amused smirk as he watched the doctor wiggling his arse and hips and singing (badly) into a wooden spoon.
> 
> “Forgive me,” Mycroft said softly, startling John into dropping his spoon onto the floor “I came to speak to Sherlock.”
> 
> “Er- Bathroom.” John choked, his face turning crimson with shame as Mycroft smiled.
> 
> “I’ll wait in the living room shall I?” Mycroft suggested, walking to Sherlock’s chair and sitting down, ignoring the music still playing from John’s open laptop.
> 
> “You and your brother are like cats. I need to put bells around your neck to stop you stalking around.” John half-joked, turning off the music and taking a seat on the sofa as far away from Mycroft as possible,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit that I like this chapter. I had a daydream about Martin dancing around the kitchen to this song so I made it happen in the fic.

John made sandwiches and brought them back through to the sofa where Sherlock had redressed and curled up in the corner, his head resting on the armrest.

“Eat up,” John instructed, handing Sherlock the plate and sitting at the opposite end, taking a mammoth bite from the ham and cheese bun and groaning at the tingle running through his taste buds. He looked over to see Sherlock staring at him with a blush,

“You okay?” John asked quizzically,

“You look tempting like that,” Sherlock answered before blushing again, “Very attractive.”

John smiled and moved to kiss Sherlock’s hand before taking another bite and dramatically groaning in the most overtly sexual way he could.

* * *

John scanned the internet and updated his blog whilst Sherlock showered; his legs curled under his bum as he clicked around on various websites and relaxed. He shot off a text to Lestrade to excuse Sherlock’s behaviour at the crime scene and suggest that Greg give Sherlock some time off which Lestrade quickly agreed to.

John skipped through his music files and settled on a playlist, starting the music and standing up to make more tea. His bum wiggling in time with the music as he half danced around the kitchen, he clicked on the kettle and grabbed a wooden spoon from the sink drainer and held it up to his mouth as a microphone as he started singing along with the tune;

‘ _What a good place to be_  
Don't believe it, 'Cause they speak a different language  
And it's never really happened to me  
It's happy hour again’

The older man continued dancing around the kitchen, tidying away the crumbs and Sherlock’s latest failed experiment without realising he had an audience. Mycroft stood in the doorway with an amused smirk as he watched the doctor wiggling his arse and hips and singing ( _badly)_ into a wooden spoon.

“Forgive me,” Mycroft said softly, startling John into dropping his spoon onto the floor “I came to speak to Sherlock.”

“Er- Bathroom.” John choked, his face turning crimson with shame as Mycroft smiled.

“I’ll wait in the living room shall I?” Mycroft suggested, walking to Sherlock’s chair and sitting down, ignoring the music still playing from John’s open laptop.

“You and your brother are like cats. I need to put bells around your neck to stop you stalking around.” John half-joked, turning off the music and taking a seat on the sofa as far away from Mycroft as possible,

“I made enough noise to ensure that I was heard. Your caterwauling just drowned it out.” Mycroft smirked

The door to the bathroom was opened and Sherlock sauntered from the steamy room into the living room; his bottom half covered with a towel and his dressing gown thrown over his shoulders, hanging open untied to show off the pale stomach beneath. John was happy that Sherlock felt able to bare himself in the safety of their home for the first time,

“Your brothers here,” John said simply,

“I know, I heard him.” Sherlock spat, “Even over your dreadful singing and the water.”

Mycroft chuckled dryly as John rolled his eyes.

“What do you want, Mycroft?” Sherlock asked, running a second towel through his damp curls “We have no cake.”

“Sherlock...” John hissed, “Be nice!”

“Lestrade informed me that you had a funny turn at a crime scene. I wanted to ensure you were okay, brother mine.” Mycroft said softly, the tone of his voice one John had never heard before. It seemed genuinely caring.

“I live with a doctor, I go to crime scenes with a doctor, I’m in love with a doctor. Do you not think that he could provide the adequate care needed?” Sherlock spat as he walked through to his bedroom, leaving the door open and pulling on underwear and pyjamas, “I’m perfectly fine.”

“You’re obviously not fine.” Mycroft hissed angrily, “Gregory said he had never seen you like that before.”

“Gregory?” Sherlock chuckled, “Dear me Mycroft. Have you finally found your goldfish?”

“Goldfish?” John asked confused, “You have a goldfish?”

“Lestrade is his goldfish, as you are mine,” Sherlock explained ( _although it didn’t actually become any clearer to John)_

“My relationship is none of your concern,” Mycroft insisted, staring at Sherlock angrily, “I am here to check on your health and safety. Nothing more.”

“I’m fine. Had a momentary lapse but John brought me home and we’ve discussed it and everything is fine.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Can we please stop this now? I do hate talking about feelings with you.”

Mycroft nodded and stood, grabbing the handle of his umbrella he walked towards the exit before stopping beside his brother and gently placing his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. Neither brother commented on the gesture, instead, Mycroft turned to leave.

“John, can I have a word if you would be so kind?” Mycroft asked in a tone which suggested it wasn’t a request.

“Er-sure?” John answered, following Mycroft out of the door and downstairs. He left 221 and stood outside on the pavement, noticing the black state car with the pretty woman sitting bored in the back seat, clicking on her Blackberry.

“John, I wouldn’t normally get involved...” Mycroft spoke softly

“Yes, you would,” John replied, staring at the British Government without fear.

“The things which happened to Sherlock… I was too late to stop. I got him out as soon as I became aware but by then the majority of the _questioning_ had already taken place.” Mycroft winced, his usually calm façade cracking slightly.

“How did you not know?” John asked, “You know everything. You know what we’ve had for breakfast before we’ve even digested it so how could you not know?”

Mycroft glared at a spot across the street, fixing his gaze before blinking and looking back at John “I just didn’t. I got him out as quickly as possible and set about fixing him but all he talked about was you. He cried for you.”

John’s heart tugged in his chest as Mycroft spoke: “I hadn’t seen Sherlock cry for many years when we finally got onto the plane to Vienna to take him to the hospital, he laid his head in my lap and wept for you.”

John startled as he heard Sherlock’s violin from above begin to play, the situation becoming surreal.

“The night he returned, I warned him not to go to the restaurant to find you. Pleaded with him but you know Sherlock.” Mycroft smiled sadly, “each time you hit him or pushed him to the ground, his wounds opened again. He was stitched up three times in three days.”

John’s stomach lurched as he processed Mycroft’s words; he had forgotten about their fight, the way he had attempted to strangle him on the floor of the posh restaurant.

“W-Why are you telling me this?” John asked, his voice full of emotion,

“Because I want you to know, Sherlock would rather hurt himself a hundred times over just to have your hands on him. You must be the responsible one, Dr Watson. Sherlock it seems has a blind spot for his own health where you’re concerned,” Mycroft grimaced,

John sighed, “I’m always the responsible one,”

“Good day, Dr Watson.” Mycroft nodded, opening the door to his car and climbing inside.

“Yeah… see ya.” John smiled and turned to climb back up the stairs.

“What did he want?” Sherlock sighed as John re-entered the flat,

“Not sure really,” John admitted with a frown “Something about me having to be responsible when you put your hands on me.”

Sherlock stiffened his back and picked up his bow again with a flourish, holding it against the strings and sawing slowly forcing light and airy sounds from the instrument “Hmmm”

* * *

The men had spent the evening cuddled up beside the fire; John was reading one of his sci-fi novels whilst Sherlock occasionally scan read the pages, scoffing at the scientific inaccuracies and angering John by predicting the outcome. It was calm and peaceful, their bodies pressed against one another in comfort, sharing their body warmth ( _and John’s tea when Sherlock drank his own and refused to make more. Complaining that John didn’t take sugar)_ until they both felt sleepy and happy.

“Come on, sleepy head.” John whispered, kissing Sherlock’s forehead “let’s get you to bed.”

“Stay with me?” Sherlock asked nervously, taking John’s hand tightly “I was thinking maybe… we could… do something.”

John’s heart thudded loudly in his chest as he nodded and feigned nonchalance, “Yeah okay, whatever you like Sherlock.”

Sherlock smiled and blushed slightly as he stood from the sofa with a large stretch, enjoying the sensation of his muscles pulling before he began stalking towards his bedroom followed by his lover. John locked the door, checked everything was turned off and that nothing of Sherlock’s would explode or dissolve during the night ( _how he wished that wasn’t something he had to worry about)_ before wandering into Sherlock’s room and undressing to his underwear, climbing in beside his lover and snuggling under the duvet away from the chilly conditions in Sherlock’s bedroom.

Sherlock hesitated at the edge of the bed before walking to the bedside table and putting on the lamp; walking back to the foot of the bed he turned off the main light. The bedroom was dimmer than it had been previously but still light enough for both men to see what they were doing as Sherlock took a deep breath and dropped his dressing gown to the floor allowing it to pool beside his feet. He hooked his thumbs into his bottoms and dropped them too before quickly jumping into bed and pulling the cover to his chin nervously,

“Well done,” John smiled, placing a chaste kiss on Sherlock’s cheek

Sherlock blushed, clearing his throat with embarrassment as he nodded as he looked over at John “Can we do something?”

“Like what?” John replied quizzically,

“I don’t know… touch each other maybe?” Sherlock blushed crimson,

John took pity on his lover and turned onto his side, pulling Sherlock closer and covering his face with tiny kisses. The detective allowed John to stroke along his neck and chest, past the scar on his front and over his navel before Sherlock got frustrated and began to stroke John too, his hands skimming the miles of creamy flesh.

“You trust me?” John asked carefully, watching as Sherlock nodded quizzically before John had leapt to straddle Sherlock’s hips, pinning him to the bed and latching his lips to Sherlock’s neck

Sherlock groaned deeply, his cock beginning to stiffen beneath the weight of John’s plump arse. John moved slowly, his fingers and tongue working in unison to relax Sherlock and get him accustomed to the sensitive sensations which rushed through his body for the first time. John revealed more of the pale skin as he moved further down, licking and nipping at the exposed clavicle, nuzzling at the scar from a barbed wire scratch as they climbed over a fence on a case, whispering sweet nothings into Sherlock’s skin as he ran his tongue along the prominent ribs.

John stroked his tongue over the bullet wound which almost killed Sherlock; provided by his own wedded wife. John shook the horrific thoughts of losing Sherlock away from his mind as he continued paying ultimate attention to the small knot of scarred tissue.

“This is mine,” John whispered before realising he spoke out loud,

Blushing deeply, Sherlock nodded silently but it seemed that his eyes had gone slightly misty which he had to blink to clear.

John moved to tongue and tease Sherlock’s nipples; listening to the younger man gasp at the unknown pleasure coursing through his veins. John chuckled as Sherlock ground his hips up for friction on his cock, desperate whines escaping his lips as he entwined his fingers into John’s short hair, pushing him further onto the sensitive nubs.

“God. I didn’t know...” Sherlock moaned deeply, his voice thick like honey.

“I intend to show you,” John whispered, moving away from the nipples to kiss down Sherlock’s stomach and hips, “may I?”

Sherlock nodded nervously, his mouth suddenly dry at the thought of what John intended to do. He had never allowed John to touch him before and suddenly his lover was only inches away from his genitals. His heart pounded and his head spun with confusing thoughts.

“Hey, hey...” John soothed “Out of that big brain. I’ve got you, you’re safe with me.”

“I know, I just...” Sherlock stopped and thought for his next words “I don’t know how long I’ll last before ejaculating.”

“I don’t even know if I’ll be good yet!” John giggled nervously, “I’m new to this too.”

Sherlock nodded and exhaled shakily before steeling himself “I’m ready.”


	9. The discovery of rimming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “God, John.” Sherlock mumbled, his lips bitten and broken from white teeth “It was unbelievable.”
> 
> John blushed and felt a fissure of pride bloom in his chest as Sherlock pulled him down for a deep and messy kiss.
> 
> “God, that tastes horrible,” Sherlock grimaced as he tasted his own essence on John's tongue.
> 
> “Yeah… I thought women were being overly dramatic about how rotten it tastes...” John laughed “Guess not. Doesn’t help that you live on coffee and cigarettes though.”
> 
> “Will it taste better if I give up?” Sherlock asked, voice going higher with interest,
> 
> “I think so,” John admitted with a shrug, running his hands up and down Sherlock's torso and finger painting with the now drying come on his stomach, “Sure I read it somewhere.”
> 
> “An experiment then,” Sherlock mumbled happily.

John took a deep breath and steadied himself mentally before beginning his journey once more; his hands trailing down Sherlock’s soft and ticklish sides to rest on Sherlock’s hipbones.

“Tell me if I’m doing something you don’t like,” John whispered as he kissed along Sherlock’s inner thigh crease, avoiding the large bulge which had already begun to leak onto the black fabric of Sherlock’s underwear.

“H-How will I know?” Sherlock asked nervously, biting his bottom lip.

John smiled and pressed a kiss over Sherlock’s navel before trailing his fingertips up and down the erect shaft pushing through the material of his pants, watching Sherlock carefully so not to push him too far too soon. Sherlock groaned and arched his back into the touch, desperately seeking more of John, the doctor grinned, and slowly began licking and mouthing over the black cotton of Sherlock’s pants, tasting the lingering musk from the detective’s precome against his tongue. It wasn’t as unpleasant as he had expected.

“May I?” John asked, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Sherlock’s pants and waiting for permission which was quickly granted with a nod. John slipped the last hint of fabric from Sherlock’s body and looked down in absolute wonder at Sherlock naked beneath him.

He was beautiful. John had never imagined that he would find another man’s penis beautiful but seeing Sherlock bare for the first time, open and trusting for his eyes only was enough to bring tears to his eyes. He shook away the sentimental wave of emotion crashing over him and moved to kiss against Sherlock’s hipbone “You’re amazing,” he said against the warm skin under his lips.

Sherlock choked back a moan as John began kissing down previously untouched skin, over the coarse trimmed hair on his groin, John’s nose nuzzling into the creases which smelt so much like Sherlock, no added chemicals or aromas, just purely Sherlock.

His chin tapped against Sherlock’s erection; a trail of precome covering the tender skin beneath his chin which startled John into giggling before he wiped it away with his hand and continued his kissing, lower and lower until he was eye to eye with Sherlock’s cock.

John internally rolled his eyes as he realised that even Sherlock’s cock looked graceful and poised. Long and perfectly proportioned, an uncut skin which had rolled itself back in arousal allowing the head to show in its fully flushed pink glory. The small slit at the head was leaking copious fluids, small beads travelling down the tight skin to collect at the base and drip into the dark nest of curls. John continued to stare, moving down to look at Sherlock’s low hanging balls which had drawn up tight to the body, leaving skin hanging below. John’s mouth watered at the sight.

Steeling himself; John stuck out his tongue and licked a trail up the side from base to tip, tasting the mixture of Sherlock’s skin, his musky, salty pre-come and a hint of fabric conditioner and soap lingering. Sherlock gripped the bedding tightly as the cool air hit his exposed genitals, the strip of wetness drawing the air, his voice became unsteady as he choked out “Christ...” and looked down at John.

Smiling reassuringly towards his lover, John repeated the movement, licking from base to lip before swirling his tongue around the glans where he knew he personally loved it most. His limited knowledge of blow-job techniques ( _learnt from his sisters Cosmo magazines and the TV show Sex and the City)_ failing him at the first hurdle, forcing him to improvise and think about what he personally preferred whenever somebody gave him oral. Using his hand, John gripped the lower half of Sherlock’s large prick and held it steady as he fixed his lips around the head and lathered the sensitive head with his tongue, flattening it and then pointing it to see which gave the best reaction.

Sherlock keened and bucked wildly, making John thankful that he had held on tightly so not to be choked by Sherlock’s thrusts. His other hand moved to hold Sherlock’s hips steady which Sherlock seemed to understand and relaxed under the gentle pressure as John attempted another sweep around Sherlock’s tip. Sherlock gasped and cried out as John covered the entire tip with his mouth, fixing his lips around the head and adding suction whilst twisting and moving his hand on the base.

Sherlock choked out a warning, his hands grabbing for John’s head messily but John batted them away; he wanted to taste Sherlock and accustom himself to his lover’s essence.

“Oh god, oh Christ, fuck, fuck fuck!” Sherlock chanted, his hips moving of their own accord and John’s name on his lips “John-John-John-Jawwwwnnnn!”

John braced himself for the rush of fluid and was rewarded with a large pulse which immediately filled his mouth and covered his tongue with a salty and bitter taste. Swallowing quickly, John attempted to drink down the entire load but it was too much too soon, he coughed and removed his lips, allowing the remaining drips to fall directly onto Sherlock’s lower stomach as John wiped his mouth with the back of his hand gracelessly.

_Looks a lot easier in porn_ his brain helpfully supplied.

Sherlock meanwhile was laying still, an arm thrown over his eyes whilst he panted and breathed heavily. John moved to sit up, watching Sherlock sucking in breaths; the doctor stroked a hand over Sherlock’s tummy sweetly, making soothing little _hush_ noises until Sherlock was breathing normally and carefully once more.

“Was that… okay?” John asked bashfully, _Three continents Watson asking for feedback from a virgin! There’s a first!_

“God, John.” Sherlock mumbled, his lips bitten and broken from white teeth “It was unbelievable.”

John blushed and felt a fissure of pride bloom in his chest as Sherlock pulled him down for a deep and messy kiss.

“God, that tastes horrible,” Sherlock grimaced as he tasted his own essence on John's tongue.

“Yeah… I thought women were being overly dramatic about how rotten it tastes...” John laughed “Guess not. Doesn’t help that you live on coffee and cigarettes though.”

“Will it taste better if I give up?” Sherlock asked, voice going higher with interest,

“I think so,” John admitted with a shrug, running his hands up and down Sherlock's torso and finger painting with the now drying come on his stomach, “Sure I read it somewhere.”

“An experiment then,” Sherlock mumbled happily.

“Turn over Sherlock.” John whispered, ”I have another surprise...”

XX

Sherlock moved nervously and cautiously, cleaning the drips of semen from his stomach with his underwear before turning onto his front and burying his blushing face into the pillow.

“Still okay?” John asked carefully as he ran a comforting hand up and down Sherlock’s arm, watching as the detective nodded wordlessly.

“Okay.” John smiled, beginning a new journey from the middle of Sherlock’s neck muscles, John began kissing and nuzzling down each vertebra, naming each one as he kissed it and listening to Sherlock snort a happy noise into the pillow.

As John reached Sherlock’s scars; he felt the detective freeze and tense up at each movement. John moved slowly, his fingers tracing the shiny skin first before being replaced by his lips and tongue, small coo’s and soothing sounds of reassurance slipped from him with every new discovery.

Sherlock relaxed enough to let John reach his lower back and sighed contentedly when John began mouthing at his ticklish sides, a giggle snatched from his throat before Sherlock could stop it.

“Oh god, you’re ticklish!” John giggled “I’m going to have so much fun with that later!”

Sherlock tutted and mumbled something which sounded like _bloody fool_ but John couldn’t be sure thanks to Sherlock’s head being buried in the expensive feather pillows.

John looked at the plump arse ( _How can a man so thin have such a lush arse?!)_ and smiled as he remembered their journey to the Palace where he first saw Sherlock almost naked. His arse was delicious looking and John wanted to feast on him forever.

Using his hand; John slowly spread Sherlock’s cheeks until his most intimate area was bared into the cool air. Sherlock gasped and looked over his shoulder in shock as John stared down at the dusky pink hole, a fine dusting of hair coated Sherlock’s buttocks and ran between his cheeks allowing John to trail his fingers down until his thumb was over the small ring.

“Okay?” John asked, waiting until Sherlock relaxed and acclimatised to the sensation.

“Yes John,” Sherlock gasped, his cock beginning to harden despite the recent orgasm as he remembered the dream on the night of his emission. Dream John bending him over and rimming him senseless; the thought was almost too sexy to bear.

John split the cheeks again and began kissing over the mounds of perfectly pale skin, his lips moving closer and closer to their destination. John could smell the earthy aroma of Sherlock’s arousal in the air, the desperation for friction almost tangible between them. He moved one hand to stroke himself firmly to take the ache from his own cock which was still harder than ever before extending his tongue and licking a line from bollocks to cleft, directly over the twitching muscle.

Sherlock jumped as though he had been electrocuted and whimpered loudly; his hands digging into the pillow as he desperately sought to push John further into him, for those sensations to return. John couldn’t hold back any longer; his tongue delved into Sherlock’s arse, licking and caressing the small bundle of untouched nerves like a starving man, he remembered how much he enjoyed it when his adventurous ex used to lick him open before they would fuck with the strap on and he wanted to make it as enjoyable for Sherlock. He flattened his tongue and made long, broad strokes before pointing it and fucking the tightness until the very tip finally breeched Sherlock’s virgin hole. John grunted with pride and pleasure at being the first person to do this for his lover whilst Sherlock keened and moaned desperately, his cock rubbing raw against the bedding.

“Please...” Sherlock begged, unsure of what he was asking for but desperately needing more,

“Hands and knees,” John suggested firmly, his hands rubbing over the soft fleshy globes of Sherlock’s arse until the detective was correctly positioned with his weight resting on his knees and elbows whilst John repositioned himself behind in the space left by Sherlock’s long legs.

John dived straight back in; the change in position allowing more of his tongue to slip inside Sherlock as he sucked and slurped at the rim, drowning in the sensations. Sherlock’s head hung low, his eyes tightly closed as he tried to catalogue each new feeling which John was drawing out of him. He hadn’t known that an act which seemed so filthy could feel so perfect.

John had never heard any noises such as the ones Sherlock made during his first ever rimming session. Deep growls and breathy whimpers escaped the younger man as John’s tongue penetrated him again and again; whispered chants of John’s name almost had the doctor coming in his pants as he tasted Sherlock.

Sherlock rolled his hips and John watched as a long thread of precome dripped from the new rock hard erection onto the bedding. John moved one hand from Sherlock’s cheek and wrapped it around Sherlock’s cock, stroking in time with each lick and taste.

“J-John!” Sherlock shouted in alarm, his hole tightening around John’s tongue as he shuddered perilously close to another orgasm “John, I’m going to… oh god…I can feel it... I’m going to come again!” the detective wailed, his head thrown back in absolute bliss as John worked him harder and faster, his thumb rubbing the slit of his cock and coaxing precome to the surface as he doubled his efforts to bring him off.

John felt Sherlock shiver before another loud gasp was exhaled and Sherlock began to shoot once more onto the sheets, his cock twitching in John’s hand and his hole pulling John in further as the orgasm continued for long moments. Sherlock’s face was red and flushed but the smile which lit up his features was enough for John’s heart to clench in adoration for his lover,

“John, please, rub yourself on me… anything, please!” Sherlock begged, his head falling forward.

“Christ. Yeah. All right...” John mumbled, freeing himself from his underwear and removing his tongue from Sherlock’s hole. He shuffled up the bed until his cock was resting in the wet crease, his pre-come covered dick rubbing along Sherlock’s saliva wet cleft and catching slightly on the now opened rim of Sherlock’s arsehole. John growled, deep and desperate as his hips snapped forward to push up and down the skin, feeling the heat of Sherlock against his cock was too much and all too soon, he could feel the first tendrils of orgasm radiating from his spine and abdomen.

“Sherlock...” John moaned, his whimpers becoming desperate as he moved faster, spitting on his hand to coat his shaft and ease the friction.

“John, yes! Please, John.” Sherlock chanted

John managed a final shaky thrust before he was climaxing; splashes of come covering Sherlock’s lower back as he juddered and cried out through his orgasm. John fell forward slightly, glad that his hand had moved itself onto Sherlock’s hip to keep himself upright as his peak faded, leaving him with the perfect afterglow.

Sherlock’s legs buckled causing both men to fall in a heap of flailing body parts and moisture. John giggled happily as his stomach was soaked with his own ejaculate whilst Sherlock collapsed into the puddle of come on the bed.

“Well… That was a fun way to spend the evening,” Sherlock drawled with a chuckle

“If you’re still able to form sentences, I didn’t do it right,” John laughed, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s shoulder blades.

“It was better than I expected. I had not expected quite so much stimulus” Sherlock yawned, suddenly more exhausted than he had ever been.

John stood and walked to the adjoining bathroom, wetting a flannel and cleaning Sherlock’s come covered back and helping the younger man flip onto his back to clean his front.

“Filthy man...” John tutted playfully, grabbing a towel and lying it over the wet patch before climbing in and scooping Sherlock in for a cuddle.

“I love you, you know” Sherlock mumbled, face half hidden in the pillow as he sneaked a look at John.

“Love you too, you daft git” John smiled and kissed his lover deeply and passionately, his tongue caressing Sherlock’s own.

  


**A few seconds later:**

“John… Did you brush your teeth?”

  
  



	10. Serviettes and semen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh! shall I just change the way I am because we’re dating and at a dinner party?” Sherlock replied angrily,
> 
> “No, but you could stop being such an utter twat when Molly has been nothing but accommodating to you” John reasoned, “Come on, just lighten up a little and I’ll make it worth your while...”
> 
> Sherlock was intrigued; his eyebrows lifting with suspicion as he looked over at his lover “how?”
> 
> “I’m sure I can think of something...” John insisted, licking his bottom lip teasingly slowly,
> 
> “Y-You’re just… this is bribery!” Sherlock gasped,
> 
> “Think of it as an incentive,” John chuckled, “Only if you’re good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is purely because I wanted back-alley sexytimes. I invented a whole dinner party just to have them rutting filthily.
> 
> I am a pervert.

_I’m having a dinner party tomorrow. Would you and John like to come? x – Molly_

_Why? – SH_

_Oh… I just thought id ask, not that it matters. Forget it x – Molly_

_Ignore him. We’d be delighted – JW_

_Has John just text to say we’ll come? – SH_

_Yes. 6.30 Tomorrow x – Molly_

  
“I don’t want to go,” Sherlock pouted childishly,

“Sherlock, Molly has been a good friend to you over the years. She just wants to have us over for dinner. It’s what regular people do.” John insisted, his no nonsense Captain voice beginning to creep in.

“Sounds boring...” Sherlock huffed, folding his arms as he finally capitulated with a scowl “Fine! but can we have a signal in case it gets too tedious so we can leave?” Sherlock moaned, flinging himself boneless onto the sofa in a sulk.

John chuckled and rolled his eyes before texting Molly to ensure Sherlock was telling the truth about the time they should arrive.

* * *

The dinner party.

“Hi guys!” Molly said happily as she answered the door,

“Evening,” Sherlock said with a smile ( _which could have been genuine, only John knew it wasn’t)_ , bending forward to press a soft kiss on Molly's cheek,

“Come in, come in,” Molly smiled, “I’ll take your coats and introduce you to everyone,”

Thankfully the other couple already waiting in the living room had known Sherlock a while; the nervousness which often came with introducing Sherlock to new people forgotten with a smile as the other couple, Nicola and Christopher introduced themselves to John with a friendly handshake.

Molly came back into the living room with wine and cheese, offering them to her guests who had begun a conversation regarding a film that had recently been released. John joined in and chatted easily with the other people finding them warm and approachable whilst Sherlock sat on silently, his eyes scanning the other people in the room.

“John...” Sherlock whispered, “It’s becoming tedious already. Can we leave?”

“Shhh, Sherlock!” John grumbled and returned his attention to the other guests as Sherlock pouted.

Molly’s new boyfriend ( _Tim? Tom? Something like that)_ was rushing around the dining room which adjoined the living room, lighting candles and fiddling with napkins in a way which made Molly swoon but made Sherlock feel uncomfortable ( _nobody cares about napkins)_ and it seemed almost too OCD for Sherlock’s liking.

“Dinner’s ready,” Molly smiled, showing her guests to their seats and taking her place at the head of the table; John and Sherlock sat beside one another opposite the other couple. John continued making conversation, his hands gesturing lightly as he spooned home made soup into his mouth and groaned at the taste,

“Did you make this Molly?” John asked, genuinely impressed,

Molly blushed and nodded; her eyes meeting John’s as he began explaining the recipe which had been passed down through the generations. Sherlock rolled his eyes and mumbled “tedious” under his breath causing John to stamp on his toe painfully to shut him up.

“It’s delicious,” Nicola agreed with a smile at both John and Sherlock “You must give me the recipe sometime!”

“Oh, I couldn’t, it’s a family secret ingredient,” Molly giggled childlike, her eyes shining with mirth.

“Basil, Garlic, and a cheese rind,” Sherlock reeled off the ingredients, not realising that Molly’s face had fallen at her secret being exposed.

“Sherlock!” John hissed angrily,

“What? I thought I was joining in the conversation?” Sherlock said confused.

“No, no, it’s fine...” Molly muttered sadly, “I’ll just go and check on the main,”

Nicola and Christopher looked away awkwardly as John turned to bollock Sherlock; his bad mood and irritating persona ruining a perfectly nice evening.

“Oh! shall I just change the way I am because we’re dating and at a dinner party?” Sherlock replied angrily,

“No, but you could stop being such an utter twat when Molly has been nothing but accommodating to you” John reasoned, “Come on, just lighten up a little and I’ll make it worth your while...”

Sherlock was intrigued; his eyebrows lifting with suspicion as he looked over at his lover “how?”

“I’m sure I can think of something...” John insisted, licking his bottom lip teasingly slowly,

“Y-You’re just… this is bribery!” Sherlock gasped,

“Think of it as an incentive,” John chuckled, “Only if you’re good.”

When Molly returned with the main courses she was immediately taken aside by Sherlock who apologised gracefully; his manners so different to his usual prickly self as he explained that he hadn’t intended to upset her. He was impressed with the deliciousness of the soup and wanted to see whether he could pick out the ingredients. He asked for her forgiveness which was promptly given with a blush, Sherlock placed a soft kiss on Molly’s cheek and took his seat beside John, smiling when the doctor entwined their fingers together on his thigh before tucking into their meal.

The food was delicious, home cooked and perfectly seasoned it was everything that John had been missing since living with Sherlock ( _Mary may have been a trained CIA assassin with no conscience and a shitty attitude towards being a wife and mother… but she made a lovely roast)_ and John savoured every mouthful as the conversation and wine flowed.

Sherlock even joined in; he avoided his usual topics which would normally become immediately awkward ( _Murder, decomposition, maggot growth rates_ ) and instead added anecdotes as and when they fit into the conversation. John watched with a swelling heart as Sherlock tried hard to be average.

The desert was chocolatey and delicious with lashings of melted chocolate and chocolate ice cream. John took a few spoonfuls but soon found it too sickly, pushing it to one side; Sherlock, however, indulged himself by eating his own portion and John’s too, his stomach feeling full and his brain fizzing from sugar overload.

Sherlock and John helped Molly clear the table whilst Tom put on a soft vinyl record and invited the others into the living room for more wine. Sherlock and John soon joined them and after a shared bottle of fine red wine, both men were feeling more than a little tipsy, their lips stained red and their minds fuzzy.

“We better be going,” John yawned, “I have an early shift at the clinic in the morning,”

“Oh that’s a shame, thank you for coming,” Molly grinned, pulling both men in for a hug as she fetched their coats. The couples said their goodbyes before John entwined Sherlock’s fingers in his own and left the warmth of Molly’s flat into the cool Spring London air.

“You’re not working tomorrow...” Sherlock said after a moment of silence,

“I know, but I couldn’t stop staring at how fucking gorgeous your lips look when they’re red,” John grinned “and I needed an excuse to leave and do filthy and depraved things to you.”

Sherlock blushed and lowered his head, smiling coyly behind the curls which had fallen over his face.

They walked through London streets; the darkness cloaking them from other people passing by, John cuddled closer into Sherlock and moved his hand to rest on his lover's plump arse, pinching and stroking it roughly with a deep groan “You drive me crazy.”

“I’m not doing anything!” Sherlock growled in frustration “I’m just walking! I’m not even thinking loudly!”

John chuckled dryly before adding “Not that kind of crazy, this kind...” and placing Sherlock’s hand over his hardened bulge pressing against his trousers.

“Oh...” Sherlock whispered, blushing again.

John looked around, noticing them were alone he pulled Sherlock down a blind alleyway. Sherlock frowned and looked around, “We can’t get back this way. It’s a dead end?”

“Yes thank you, Mr London A-Z,” John rolled his eyes, “I’m not thinking that”

“Then wha-” Sherlock started before being cut off by John getting down on his knees on the cold pavement, unzipping Sherlock’s tailored trousers and pulling out his half hard cock.

“John!” Sherlock hissed, his eyes moving side to side to check nobody could see, “This isn’t a good idea,”

John hummed and took Sherlock into the warmth of his mouth, flicking his tongue under the roll of skin which hung over the younger man’s limp cock.

“God!” Sherlock mumbled, his hands moving to cup John’s head tightly, “I had – _ungg –_ no idea you were so filthy...”

John smiled around his cock and sucked harder; feeling the shaft harden further in his mouth until Sherlock was fully erect and leaking onto his tongue. Sherlock whimpered; his breathing deep and laboured as he attempted to stay quiet so not to be discovered down a seedy alleyway like a common tart but the sensation of being outside, so close to people walking by unknowingly was too much. Sherlock gasped and groaned, biting his lip to stop the curses escaping as he reached the edge,

“J-John – oh god John!” he whispered, his hips jerking forward for more friction.

John reached into his pocket and pulled out the creased napkin from Molly’s table; holding it against Sherlock’s tip he continued stroking in a steady rhythm until he felt Sherlock tense and hold his breath before wetness seeped into the tissue. John stroked Sherlock through his orgasm, ensuring that every drop had been deposited into the napkin before placing a tender kiss on the tip of Sherlock’s prick and putting it away back into Sherlock’s trousers. He pocketed the soiled tissue to dispose of at home ( _John imagined some criminal mastermind getting hold of Sherlock’s sperm and framing him for something dreadful. An unlikely thing to happen but not impossible in his strange life and career)_

Sherlock’s legs wobbled from his orgasm and lethargy was quickly spreading. The endorphins mixing with the wine causing sleepiness to draw upon him but he desperately wanted to give John an outdoor orgasm too. He helped John to his feet and pushed him against the wall, attacking his lips with passionate and sloppy kisses which tasted of wine, chocolate and his own precome. John groaned and placed his hands on Sherlock’s hip, holding the taller man close and rutting wildly against Sherlock’s hip.

The detective unzipped John and pulled out the long and very aroused cock; his hand wrapped around John’s prick, enjoying the view of John’s eyes fluttering closed and his lips opening slightly as Sherlock stroked him in a steady rhythm, allowing John to thrust into his fist.

“Oh John...” Sherlock whispered directly into Johns' ear, “I can’t wait to be inside you...”

The whimper which escaped John’s lips was the most unmanly sound Sherlock had ever heard and he desperately wanted more.

Lowering the volume of his voice, he breathily moaned into John’s ear as he continued stroking him, “I want to get you home and return the favour which you did for me. I want to lick you open, I want to taste you and tongue fuck you until you’re too sensitive for anything more.”

John whined again, his cock leaking profusely against Sherlock’s fist and his own trousers.

“Then I want you to lie on your back; pull your legs up for me so I can see you exposed and open. I’ll kiss you hard and desperate until we’re panting for breath and then keep your eyes on me as I slowly push myself into you,” Sherlock groaned deeply, his cheeks blushing with his own filthy words but realising the effect it was having on his lover who seemed completely desperate in his hand, small moans echoed around the walls of the alleyway as Sherlock continued,

“I want my first time to be with you, John Watson. I want to make love to you; I want you to take my virginity and keep it safe and secure knowing that I’m only yours. Forever and ever...” Sherlock whimpered, feeling slightly silly at his words, but unable to stop saying them due to the emotions welling up inside him.

“And when I come, I want to come inside you, looking deep into your eyes and showing you how much I love you...” Sherlock smiled, recognising that John was on edge and dropping to his knees, “Only yours, John Watson.”

John came with a muffled gasp and a cry. His knees buckling as an intense orgasm washed over him to be swallowed by Sherlock who sucked and drank down the load as much as he could, allowing a small amount to drip down the side of his lip as he maintained eye contact with his lover as he cleaned off John’s still twitching dick.

“Jesus!” John gasped and whimpered, “God Sherlock. Did you mean it?”

“Every word” Sherlock insisted, nuzzling into John’s neck and placing a soft kiss on his jawline.

“I bloody love you, you mad man.” John giggled,

“I’m not the one who dragged you down an alley! We could have been murdered or seen,” Sherlock feigned shock and horror,

John smiled and kissed Sherlock sweetly before pulling Sherlock’s forehead to rest on his own, “Shall we go home?”

John realised that Sherlock was in a world of his own when the detective didn’t answer; he was looking around the alleyway and the house roofs

“Everything all right?” John asked nervously,

“Oh er... I realised where we are...” Sherlock grimaced, as his text chime chirped from his pocket, pulling it out he groaned and handed the Blackberry to John with a wince.

_**Please, for the love of God. Never do that again. Look above you – MH** _

John’s heart thudded as he looked up and noticed the camera pointing away from them, obviously being controlled by one of Mycroft’s minions.

“Do you think he saw?” John asked in horror, not really happy that Mycroft and half of the secret service probably saw his cock.

“He better have deleted it...” Sherlock groaned, “Otherwise it’s going to make Christmas dinner awkward.”

John sniggered before bursting into a roar of laughter, pulling Sherlock out of the alley and back towards Baker Street.

* * *

Mycroft poured a double Scotch and winced as the alcohol burned his throat on the way down. He had been given information on Sherlock’s _activities_ and sent Anthea to deal with it; unwilling to watch his brother’s deviant behaviour for himself,

He hadn’t seen Gregory in days, he frowned and picked up his mobile, clicking 3 on speed dial he called his lover and smiled when Greg’s tired voice came over the line;

“How about dinner tonight, my love?” Mycroft asked with a seedy and lustful grin.


	11. Caught in the act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock moved to the en-suite and grabbed a towel, wetting it with warm water he returned and cleaned John’s filthy stomach and lower thighs. Handing the towel to John he watched carefully as John wiped away the streaks of lube which trailed down his arse cleft and buttocks.
> 
> “You’re home early...” John said meekly, blushing at being caught so intimately
> 
> “Indeed and I’m very glad about it,” Sherlock smirked devilishly before kissing John, “Now tell me, what were you thinking about?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PWP this chapter.

John nervously entered the store with a blush; his cheeks burning with the thought of discovery. The blog had allowed him and Sherlock to become minor celebrities and he didn’t relish the thought of his picture being plastered around the media entering an adult store. He slipped inside and exhaled as he spotted what he needed,

* * *

Sherlock was working with Lestrade on some cold cases which had come in from another department. The detective had been asked to look over them but he had refused to work with anybody other than Lestrade who accepted his strange behaviour without harsh comments; Lestrade had allowed Sherlock to use his office whilst he finished up on the paperwork on their ‘Romeo and Juliet’ case and the parent’s arrest. Sherlock didn’t ask for details on the case and Lestrade didn’t give them.

The men sat in companionable silence as they worked; Sherlock occasionally steepling his fingers under his chin and staring at a spot on the wall before snapping out and making notes and closing the file, putting it to one side with a flourish.

‘”Any more?” Sherlock asked after an hour.

Lestrade looked up and realised that Sherlock had solved all six cases within the hour. The DI smiled at his friend and shook his head, “That’s it. I can ask around for more if you like?”

“Yes , lease. Text me...” Sherlock returned the smile before dropping it and fiddling awkwardly with some of the loose paper around him, “Lestrade… about the crime scene…”

“It’s all right,” Greg cut him off, “I don’t understand what you went through, but I saw the look on your face and realised it wasn’t a trick or a misunderstanding. You were hurting, Sherlock. I understand and you always know where I am if you need someone to talk. I know we're – well, it's complicated now I'm with your brother but you know you'll always be my friend. I care a lot about you.”

Sherlock blushed and grabbed his scarf, wrapping it around his neck as he looked down at Greg.

“You… I…”h e paused and took a deep breath, “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me Greg. Since the beginning.”

Lestrade gulped in a breath and nodded wordlessly “Yeah, Thanks Sherlock,”

Sherlock nodded and began stalking out of Lestrade’s office without another word until noticing Anderson standing attempting to scratch himself discreetly,

“Pubic Lice, Anderson!” Sherlock shouted across the packed office floor, watching as officers and detectives turned to stare at both Sherlock and Anderson, “A good medicated lotion will help with the itch.”

Greg groaned and pressed his hands to his eyes as the floor burst into laughter and Sherlock walked out of the door with a huge grin leaving Anderson red faced and furious.

* * *

John had returned to Baker Street carrying his bag of goodies; climbing into the shower he had washed thoroughly before grabbing the bag and walking up to his bedroom. Plugging his phone into his speakers he began playing music as he towelled himself off and spread his purchases over the bedding.

He ran his hand over the cool silicone of the average sized flesh coloured dildo. His head thudding and his cock stiffening at the thought of having something inside him again for the first time in a long, long time, John pressed his palm against his erection and pulled off the plastic wrapper around the lubricant, clicking open the lid and sniffing the fluid to ensure it was plain and unscented. He was happy with the smell and texture so placed it on his bedside table as he opened his towel and lay back on his bed, stroking his cock to full hardness.

His mind began to wander; he listened to Depeche Mode singing ‘Enjoy the Silence’ which echoed around the room as he imagined him and Sherlock at a club,

_Sherlock wearing leather trousers and his purple shirt of sex; they would be dancing. Sherlock tossing his hair back and laughing as John gyrated his hips against Sherlock’s arse, there would be people surrounding them but nobody paying them any attention as John grabbed for Sherlock’s head and pulled him down for a burning kiss, their tongues slipping and caressing against one another as their hips continued to move to the beat of the music. The colourful lights would illuminate Sherlock’s curls, glowing in Sherlock’s pale, colourless eyes as they pulled away and began to stroke one another over their clothes. Teasing each other with lingering caresses until neither man could hide their erections inside their tight clothing._

John’s mind skipped forward; they were back in Baker Street, in Sherlock’s large, comfortable bed whilst Depeche Mode continued to play.

_Sherlock would kiss John passionately and beg for more; his lips yearning for John’s touch as they shuffled towards the bed. John fell onto his back, pulling Sherlock forward to rest over him until their cocks were pushed together, frotting against one another whilst still clothed._

“ _Please...” Dream Sherlock would beg, “John, please…_ _I want you.”_

_John would undress Sherlock quickly, allowing the clothes to fall haphazardly around the room until Sherlock and himself were nude and spread out over the bed; each rutting carelessly against one another and spreading their wetness for extra slide._

John opened the lid to the lube and smeared it over his hand; slicking it over his cock and allowing some to dribble down to his opening as he moved his other hand to cup and roll his bollocks carefully, a finger straying to his perineum and pressing softly to stimulate his prostate from the outside. He circled his finger around his puckered opening, shivering at the sensations and wishing it was Sherlock’s tongue licking him open. He returned to his fantasy;

_Sherlock would have flipped him onto his hands and knees; the detective kissing down his lovers’ neck and shoulders, flicking his tongue over John’s star shaped scar as he tasted him completely. His hands skimming down John’s sides to rest on his plump arse as his cock slipped between John’s thighs causing both men to gasp at the thought._

“Jesus,” John grimaced, not wanting to get too carried away with his fantasy that he came early. That wasn’t the plan. He pushed a finger gently inside himself, startling at the unusual sensation that he had forgotten, his thick digit stretching him already.

_Sherlock would thrust between his thighs; John would feel his wet tip brush against his bollocks and send a thrill of electricity down his spine. Sherlock would pull away and move his fingers to John’s entrance, probing at the sensitive ring before grabbing the lubricant and drizzling it over the skin and using one of his oh so beautiful violinist’s fingers to push inside, sliding effortlessly into John’s body and locating his prostate with a single sweep._

John’s cock was leaking against his stomach as he pulled up his legs and spread them to allow himself a better angle to touch his prostate; it was awkward and slightly jarring on his shoulder but he didn’t care. He removed his finger and added a second, scissoring them and stretching himself open until he could take a third. He felt able and very, very willing to take the dildo.

Moving his hands away from his most intimate spot he gripped the dildo and pulled it to his chest; drizzling the lube over the silicone before spreading it with his hand and pressing the tip against his entrance. Taking a slow and shaky breath he breeched himself with the toy, an inch at a time. Gasping and whimpering with each burning sensation which rushed through his body making him feel perfectly deviant and close to his peak.

John imagined Sherlock instead of the toy;

_The younger man would be sat on his knees, innocent features staring down at John enraptured as the first few inches of his impressive cock were buried deep inside John. John himself would be staring back, willing himself to hold on to his orgasm for a little longer, wanting to feel Sherlock inside him fully before he spasmed around the hardness taking his virginity._

“ _Oh John, I’m inside you,” Dream Sherlock would groan, his mind totally unable to process the emotions and pleasure coursing through his body_

“ _More, Sherlock!” John would groan, his hips moving with tiny thrusts to try to force Sherlock further inside him, needing to feel the burn and stretch._

_Sherlock would move, pushing himself in further until he was buried to the hilt inside John’s warmth, feeling the tightness fluttering around his cock. He began a shaky rhythm, pulling out slightly before pressing back inside, building his thrusts into harder and faster movements which hit against John’s prostate with every movement. John was almost delirious with pleasure, his cock leaking on his stomach as Sherlock thrust inside him, deeper, deeper, deeper,_

“Oh fuck!” John cried out as the dildo pressed against his prostate again and sent another tremor down his spine, “Sherlock!”

“Yes John?” came the deep reply from the bedroom doorway, Sherlock’s eyes huge and dark with want as he stared down at his lover fucking himself on his bed, “I can see you're close. Your testicles are pulled up to your body, your skin is vibrating and flushed with need. I think you should come for me, John. Do it… Show me.”

John arched his back and screamed, his eyes slamming closed as he came without touching his cock. Ribbons of come coating his stomach as he continued slamming the dildo into him, his prick still twitching and leaking white onto his tummy as he slowed down his movements. His breathing was heavy and he dropped back onto his pillow with a groan, removing the plastic phallus from himself and threw it onto his towel as he shuddered with the intense aftershocks.

Sherlock unzipped his trousers and pulled out his own cock, tugging on the hardened flesh quickly and efficiently until he felt the stirrings of orgasm building in his abdomen. Walking to John’s side he rolled his shoulders and allowed his head to fall back as he climaxed, adding his own release to John’s coating his stomach.

“Good god,” Sherlock choked, his eyes still shut as he savoured the feelings flooding his body.

“Mmm,” John agreed, his chest heaving as he cooled down.

Sherlock moved to the en-suite and grabbed a towel, wetting it with warm water he returned and cleaned John’s filthy stomach and lower thighs. Handing the towel to John he watched carefully as John wiped away the streaks of lube which trailed down his arse cleft and buttocks.

“You’re home early...” John said meekly, blushing at being caught so intimately

“Indeed and I’m very glad about it,” Sherlock smirked devilishly before kissing John, “Now tell me, what were you thinking about?”


	12. Of Mice and (Gay) Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I want to lose my virginity,” Sherlock mumbled with a crimson glow, “with John...”
> 
> “And you’re in my office for this because?” Mycroft grimaced, looking slightly green at the thought “Not much I can do to help in that regard.”
> 
> “I don’t want tips Mycroft,” Sherlock spat, “I think I’ve deduced everything deviant from the way Greg walks with a slight limp on his right side whenever he’s been at your dwelling.”
> 
> Mycroft flushed at the jibe before steeling his gaze into his best Iceman persona, “So, what do you want?”
> 
> “A recommendation...” Sherlock answered, “The best hotel suite in London.”
> 
> “Oh,” Mycroft brightened, happy at the change of subject to something more easily discussed, “I can provide you with a list.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hotel room I'm thinking of is this one: https://www.41hotel.com/rooms-and-suites

Mrs Hudson tensed as she heard the shouting coming from the flat above; John’s voice sounded furious as he shouted and ranted at a voice which could only be Sherlock’s. Unwilling to put herself into the middle of a domestic she quickly picked up her phone and called Lestrade, nervously explaining the shouting ( _which Greg could hear for himself over the telephone)_ and asking him to come over and check that neither man would kill the other.

Greg arrived within 10 minutes; he greeted Mrs Hudson at the door and placed a soft kiss on her cheek before racing up the stairs and banging on the door. John answered with a red, angry face as he looked at his friend and sighed before inviting Greg inside,

Lestrade hadn’t expected the view.

Sherlock was sitting in his chair perfectly poised with a collection of white mice running across his legs and fingers. John’s heavy breathing caused Greg to turn and stare incredulously at the doctor,

“Yeah, it’s exactly what it looks like...” John sighed,

“Sherlock… what in the buggering fuck have you done?” Greg asked looking around at the numerous mice chasing one another around the living room and kitchen.

“Nice choice of words,” Sherlock rolled his eyes, “It’s an experiment!”

“In what? John’s patience?” Greg hissed, “Because I think he has the patience of a bloody saint,”

“Oh yes, kissie kissie niceness,” Sherlock growled, “It’s an important scientific experiment regarding the family bonds between mice.”

“No. It’s a way for the flat to become full of vermin!” John spluttered, sitting himself down on the sofa and narrowly escaping squashing a small critter under his arse.

“I suggest an exterminator,” Greg looked over at John, “but you’ll need to stay somewhere else.”

“I’m not leaving!” Sherlock insisted petulantly, allowing the mouse in his hand to climb onto his shoulder.

“Then you’ll be staying here alone with your mice and pesticide!” John shouted angrily, his gaze steely and furious.

“Or, I could get in touch with Mycroft...” Greg offered, realising it was the easiest way to irritate Sherlock, “and I’m sure he could arrange something?”

Sherlock scowled at his lover and the DI before waving his hand dismissively “Fine. We’ll go to a hotel but if this experiment ever comes up in a crime, you’re not allowed to complain.”

“I think I’ll manage.” Greg insisted rolling his eyes at John.

* * *

 

Sherlock had pouted and complained when John received a text from Mycroft insisting that there was a car waiting outside with a key to a suite for one of the best hotels in London but John wasn’t willing to turn down the chance to stay in luxury ( _and annoy Sherlock in the process)_ just because it was Mycroft who offered. He replied with a thank you and picked up his luggage and ordered Sherlock to do the same; Mrs Hudson scowled at Sherlock furiously as she waited for her own car to take her to her sisters whilst the house was fumigated and cleansed of mice and goodness knows what else. Sherlock sheepishly kissed his landladies cheek before fleeing, leaving John to say goodbye and give her a bundle of £20 notes taken from Sherlock’s own check-in account in apology. Mrs Hudson gave a warm smile and kissed John back, telling him to enjoy himself with a wink.

* * *

 

**Earlier that morning:**

Mycroft sat in his office with a grin, he hadn’t expected a visit from Sherlock but found that his baby brother was already sitting on the expensive sofa when he arrived, obviously being let in by Anthea who had given her best ‘ _I definitely didn’t see you sucking off your boyfriend down an alleyway’_ look.

Sherlock looked nervous; his body thrumming with tension and anxiety as he refused to look at his brother. Mycroft walked into the office and placed his umbrella and coat on the stand before taking a seat behind his large desk, folding his hands in front of him and looking over at Sherlock, silently deducing him ( _despite the fact that both brothers had promised to never deduce one another after a particularly violent birthday party)_

Sherlock shifted under Mycroft’s gaze before exhaling shakily and asking, “Do you know what I’m going to ask?”

Mycroft straightened his spine and answered with a smile, “I would imagine so,”

Sherlock blushed and looked away, “Believe me, I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t important.”

“So it would seem,” Mycroft replied, moving letters and memos around his desk in an attempt to look busy, “spit it out then, the world doesn’t stop turning because you have an issue,”

“I want to lose my virginity,” Sherlock mumbled with a crimson glow, “with John...”

“And you’re in my office for this because?” Mycroft grimaced, looking slightly green at the thought “Not much I can do to help in that regard.”

“I don’t want tips Mycroft,” Sherlock spat, “I think I’ve deduced everything deviant from the way Greg walks with a slight limp on his right side whenever he’s been at your dwelling.”

Mycroft flushed at the jibe before steeling his gaze into his best Iceman persona, “So, what do you want?”

“A recommendation...” Sherlock answered, “The best hotel suite in London.”

“Oh,” Mycroft brightened, happy at the change of subject to something more easily discussed, “I can provide you with a list.”

“Thank you, brother mine,” Sherlock said softly “appreciate it,”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft asked ‘Why do you want to go to a hotel? Why not at home where you’re most comfortable and settled?’

“Because if I do it wrong...” Sherlock started, his voice stopping midway,

“You want to be able to delete it, and you can’t delete Baker Street.” Mycroft nodded, “Clever.”

An hour later Mycroft had arranged for his usual suite at Hotel 41 to be booked for 3 nights. He smiled as the pleasant receptionist asked how he would be paying to which Mycroft simply gave his name and was told that it would be available. Sherlock looked on impressed.

When the booking had been completed Mycroft replaced the handle of the telephone into its cradle and turned to Sherlock, “So, now that’s arranged. How are you going to convince John to go?”

“I’ll think of something.” Sherlock insisted with a grin,

Mycroft gave a rare genuine smile at his younger brother, his fondness clear to see “I would suggest you have fun but I can’t imagine that you would have anything else but fun..”

Sherlock blushed furiously and moved to leave the office, giving Mycroft one more look before he frowned “I will deny all knowledge of this conversation. Please delete it.”

“With pleasure” Mycroft nodded, giving a brief wave for Sherlock to get out before he began looking through his notes on the desk.

Sherlock kept his head down on the way out of the office, avoiding Anthea and pulling up his phone to find the nearest pet shop on the way home.

* * *

 

“Mr Holmes,” the receptionist smiled kindly, “If you would like to leave your bags, we’ll have them taken up to your room.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock smiled looking down at the name badge, “Veronica,”

The pretty girl blushed sweetly and turned to hand Sherlock his keys before showing them towards the lift to the suite. John followed behind, ensuring that he put a hand on Sherlock’s arse as they walked away to ensure his presence was known.

“Honestly John!” Sherlock chuckled as they stood in the lift and found their way to their room. Opening the door John gasped as he looked around at the opulent surroundings and the exquisite attention to detail in each perfectly decorated room.

The most amazing part of the room was the conservatory ceiling, a completely open view of London’s sky which although grey and drizzly as they looked up at the moment, would become beautiful and romantic during the night. John looked around open-mouthed “I’m speechless,”

Sherlock blushed and startled when the knock at the door heralded their luggage’s arrival. Tipping the busboy he carried the cases into the room and left them by the bed as he grabbed John softly around the middle and pulled him in for a lingering and sensual kiss.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock whispered, “For being a pain… and for infesting our home with vermin,”

“If you keep bringing me places like this, I think I’ll have to forgive you,” John giggled, licking Sherlock’s lips.

* * *

 

Their evening was filled with looking through the hotel room ( _Johns nervousness at being seen as poor as he eyed up the plush towels wondering whether he could steal them reasoning that that is what you do in hotels)_ and deciding what to do that night. Sherlock had planned ahead of course and suggested that they go to Angelo’s for dinner before returning to the hotel for a bath and an early night. John agreed and cleaned himself up quickly, changing his shirt and messing with his hair until Sherlock became irate and dragged John from the room, entwining their fingers together as they walked through reception and into the early evening light.

Angelo had been well prepared for Sherlock’s date; he had reserved the table which was in front of the window ( _the table they sat in the night of the cabbie)_ and placed a beautiful smelling candle in the middle. Sherlock smiled at Angelo who came over with the menus and took their order before leaving the men to their own devices.

“Sherlock,” John smiled, taking his lover's hand, “Are you all right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Sherlock asked nervously, his tongue flicking out to lick his lip as his eyes darted left and right.

“You’re just being a little strange,” John replied, his thumb tracing Sherlock’s knuckles, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had a plan.”

Sherlock stiffened his back and shook his head, “No. No plan...”

“Oh,” John replied with fake sadness, “I thought I’d deduced correctly… but obviously not.” he fake sighed

“Tell me?” Sherlock asked, looking at John’s posture.

“Well, if I didn’t know better. I would have thought that you had purposely flooded our flat with vermin in order to get me to a posh hotel. You argued with me and got me angry that I accepted the suite from Mycroft just to piss you off… which was your intention anyway...” John smirked, “and now you’re wooing me by taking me to the place where we first spent time together before taking me back to a very romantic and beautiful hotel.”

Sherlock blushed and bit his lip which made John feel a little guilty at ruining the surprise. John had figured it out relatively easily when Sherlock hadn’t argued over the suite ( _Sherlock ALWAYS argued)_ and when John had found a playlist entitled ‘Mine and John’s sex playlist’ on John’s laptop.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Sherlock insisted, sure that John would forget the whole thing and it would still be a surprise.

“Oh. My mistake.” John answered taking a sip of wine, “must be crossed wires.”

“Hmm.” Sherlock added before taking a drink of his own, “leave the deductions to me.”

John grinned happily and nodded before adding, “Go on then, impress me...” nodding towards the other couples sitting around them.

Sherlock quickly deduced each couple making John chuckle with a few personal and deviant secrets which Sherlock had discovered from shoelaces or the way they breathed ( _or whatever else he looked at. John was never sure)_ before their food came and both men settled down to eat.

The food was delicious as normal and both men ate their fill. Sherlock ordered dessert and two spoons and fed John small bites, blushing and becoming flustered each time John let out a soft sigh at the creamy pudding. Sherlock was already ridiculously hard and aching in his pants and reasoned that if he didn’t calm down, he would be no good to anybody.

“Shall we get back?” John asked casually,

“Sure. I’ll get the bill,” Sherlock explained as he stood up, firing off a quick text in his pocket as he handed over the money to Angelo and accepted a slap on the shoulder from his friend.

* * *

The walk back to the hotel took them along the river and beside the palace as they strolled casually. Sherlock allowed John to grip his hand as they walked, their spirits buoyed by adoration for one another. Sherlock didn’t even mind when a young woman with a deerstalker hat came over and cautiously asked for an autograph and a picture with the pair. Sherlock and John grinned for the selfie before bidding the fan goodnight and continuing on their journey.

They travelled up the lift and into the suite where Sherlock’s next surprise awaited. Lit candles were dotted around the room, lighting up the darkness with ambient warmth as the two men entered. John turned wide-eyed to Sherlock and grinned;

“You old romantic fool, Sherlock Holmes.” John smiled, kissing Sherlock softly and running a hand through silky curls.

The scent of the candles was overshadowed by another scent coming from the bathroom; John entered and looked at the double sized Jacuzzi which had been filled and scattered with rose petals and lit candles around the edge. A bucket of ice, champagne and glasses stood beside it waiting for the couple.

John was speechless and looked over at Sherlock who stood in the doorway nervously; his eyes looking at the floor as John walked over to him and pulled him in for a hug, “You beautiful, amazing man. Shall we? Before it gets cold.”

Sherlock nodded and began to undress, his hands shaking nervously and his breath coming out in nervous puffs of air.

“Hey, hey calm...” John soothed, his hands running over Sherlock’s chest, “It’s just a nice bath,”

Sherlock exhaled and calmed his nerves before stripping naked and walking to the speakers which had been left on the side, plugging in his phone he selected the playlist and set it onto shuffle as he watched John take off his clothes and step into the tub.

“Mmmm” John groaned, his head falling back, “get in here!”

Sherlock climbed over the rim of the tub and cuddled into John’s chest, his shoulder blades pressing into John’s collarbone as he settled himself in place. Sherlock sloshed the water around him and watched as the rose petals changed directions on the waves.

The two men stayed like that for a short while; enjoying the warmth of their bodies and the water as the candles burnt around them. Sherlock moved slightly to grab the bottle of champagne and uncorked it, pouring it into glasses and handing one to John who thanked him and nuzzled his neck softly.

“I love you,” John whispered into Sherlock’s ear as the detective settled back down, pressing his back against John’s prick which had twitched awake with the pale skin resting against his own.

“Likewise,” Sherlock replied, his curls brushing John’s chin as they relaxed.

John placed his glass on the floor beside the tub and kissed along Sherlock’s neck, his hands moving the curls away as he continued to lick and nibble on the sensitive skin. Sherlock groaned and his body began to buzz with arousal as John stroked his chest from clavicle to hipbone with gentle caresses. His tongue and hands moving together to create the perfect mix of pleasure,

“Turn around,” John ordered softly, helping Sherlock to turn in the large tub until he was lying in one corner of the tub whilst John moved to position himself in between Sherlock’s long legs, his and Sherlock’s erections rubbing against one another lazily as they passionately kissed, their tongues sweeping against one another as their wet flesh slid perfectly.

John watched in amazement as Sherlock’s cheeks blushed and he threw back his head as one of John’s large hands grasped both cocks together and stroked softly, his mouth moving to kiss and suck at Sherlock’s neck and throat, travelling down his collarbone and to his chest and settling on his nipples. Sherlock gasped at the sensations and desperately clutched the back of John’s head, holding him close as John orally stimulated the nubs of sensitive skin as his hand moved up and down the hard rod pressed against his own.

Small pants of lust were escaping Sherlock as his hips moved rhythmically; attempting to create more of the perfect friction between his cock and John’s whilst ensuring that John never moved from his nipples. It was too much, too perfect and Sherlock could feel his orgasm tingling up his spine quickly.

“J-John,” he gasped nervously, “Going to come…. I can't stop it. I'm – oh god”

“Shhhh, it's all right” John soothed, “It’ll take the edge off for later when I want you to make love to me.”

Sherlock came with a wail; his eyes closing as his cock twitched against John’s and began unloading spurts of come into the fragranced water around them. John bucked his hips against Sherlock’s spent cock and tensed as he followed Sherlock into a blissful climax; his head thrown back and Sherlock’s name on his lips.

Both men relaxed in the slightly grimy water before bursting into giggles and kissing gently and lazily; their afterglow allowing both men to relax and enjoy the sensations of being together so intimately with the promise of making love.

“We should get out,” Sherlock suggested

“Hmmm.” John agreed, making no attempt at moving,

“You’ll be all pruned!” Sherlock chuckled, “I don’t want to make love to a raisin,”

John mumbled playfully under his breath before climbing from the tub and grabbing a dressing gown which had been provided. He opened the other and held it out for Sherlock who was still nervous about being naked, Sherlock smiled and thanked his lover as John wrapped the towelling fabric around him and pulled him into a deep hug.

“Take me to bed,” John whispered seductively into Sherlock’s ear, watching as Sherlock blushed and nodded before leading his lover by the hand towards the huge bed.


	13. Finally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John cleaned Sherlock’s sticky body and climbed in beside his lover, pulling Sherlock to rest on his chest as they looked up into the air, watching the stars twinkle and the moon glow dominantly in the inky blackness of London’s night.
> 
> “I love you to the Moon,” John whispered sleepily into Sherlock’s ear, unsure whether the detective was sleeping.
> 
> “I love you 238,855 miles worth,” Sherlock replied with a goofy smile, pulling himself closer in to John’s body and relaxing into sleep.

Sherlock led the way to the large bed; his legs shaking as he attempted to calm his breathing and relax. John followed behind watching Sherlock’s perfect arse jiggle with each step,

The men climbed onto the bed, kicking back the covers and lying on the luxury sheet as they faced one another, their noses almost touching as they inhaled one another's breath. John ran his thumb over Sherlock’s cheekbones and his nose, watching Sherlock’s eyes flutter closed happily as John wrapped his other arm around Sherlock’s neck.

“Kiss me?” John whispered, his pupils dark and huge, leaving only a thin sliver of colour.

Sherlock moved his face closer to his lovers; their lips meeting softly and tenderly in an almost chaste kiss which was deepened by John licking Sherlock’s bottom lip before dipping into his mouth and licking around Sherlock’s teeth and the roof of his mouth. Sherlock groaned and gripped the back of John’s head, pulling the older man in closer for another passionate kiss which spoke wordlessly of both men’s adoration for each other.

Sherlock allowed himself to be manhandled onto his back as John began kissing down the long, pale neck and throat. Sherlock grabbed at the bedding as John sucked a nipped a bruise onto the skin, marking Sherlock’s body with John’s own shape, marking him as his.

John stroked his hand through Sherlock’s curls as he stared down at the beauty beneath him. Sherlock’s eyes had widened and his cheeks had flushed pink with want as John kissed and caressed him with the intention of making him feel cherished and loved.

The two men had kissed and touched one another for enough time to pass for them to feel the stirrings of their second erections of the night. A fact which impressed John immensely considering neither man was at the peak of their youth; John stroked Sherlock slightly, ensuring the younger man was comfortable with his touch before he leant down and whispered seductively into Sherlock’s ear, “I want you inside me...”

Sherlock whimpered and nodded, nervously shifting their positions so that John was lying on his back with Sherlock half over him, their legs entwined as they kissed.

“Wow,” John gasped as he looked up, “Look at that view...”

Sherlock craned his head to look through the conservatory window above. The glass ceiling allowing them a perfect view of the night sky and the hundreds of twinkling stars which looked down beside the large, bright and completely full moon.

The music which tinkled through from the bathroom had changed to something dramatic and pretty; a song full of instruments of which John couldn’t name, playing a tune he had never heard but never wanted to stop hearing. (A Howling Wilderness)

Sherlock moved lower on John’s body; his mouth kissing a trail down the slightly flabby tummy which wiggled so perfectly as Sherlock placed kitten kisses along the skin. Reaching John’s cock Sherlock looked up for consent ( _John nodded quickly)_ before pushing John into his mouth as far as possible. His tongue licking patterns and shapes onto the shaft and head as he swallowed around the tip as best he could; he breathed carefully, refusing to gag on such an important night but found he had to pull away and gasp for air as his hands took up the stroking as he wiped away the unshed tears.

“Don’t...” John soothed, voice broken with arousal, “Don’t rush or choke yourself. I want it slow. I want to feel it.”

Sherlock nodded and continued slowly, teasing licks and nibbles littered the sensitive skin until John was mewling and pliant below.

Sherlock took this as an opportunity to lift John’s legs and tease the furled opening with his tongue for the first time ever; enjoying the new tastes and smells of John’s body. The doctor whimpered and grabbed the bedding tightly, his legs widening mindlessly as he lifted his thighs towards his chest, giving Sherlock more room to manoeuvre.

The detective used every trick he had read about ( _thank goodness for Google)_ to ensure that John was a complete and utter mess. The older man rolling his head from side to side as Sherlock’s tongue buried itself inside John’s body, deeper and faster, tongue fucking him and relaxing the muscle.

“Sherlock, please...” John begged, his mind unravelling.

Sherlock acquiesced and reached for the vial of expensive lubricant he had purchased especially; he opened the lid with a shaky hand and poured a small pool into his hand, trailing the liquid over John’s reddened cock and tight balls, his fingers straying down to the sensitive perineum and finally, circling and probing at the now saliva wet hole. Sherlock added more lube and pressed a finger inside, gasping at the warmth of John’s body around his finger; they had never tried anal play in the weeks in which they had been together and Sherlock was glad that he could have the experience on the night when it mattered most. He twisted his finger and startled at the noise which emanated from John’s throat, an almost pained whimper.

“Is it…” Sherlock asked, stopping his hand.

“No. No, don’t stop...” John begged, his eyes looking down pleadingly at Sherlock who looked on enraptured at John’s completely wrecked appearance, “It's just – it's you.”

Sherlock removed his finger and added a second, scissoring and opening John up until he was confident the man could take a third with ease. John gasped and arched his back as he felt Sherlock’s third finger press inside him and sweep around the virgin territory ( _John was counting it as virgin, he’d never had an actual penis inside and toys didn’t count)_. Sherlock stretched John wide, enjoying the sensations of John’s hole fluttering around his fingers as he maintained a steady rhythm,

“Need you...” John gasped, “Please kiss me...”

Sherlock angled himself to ensure that his fingers were able to keep John open as he moved to kiss his lover passionately; their tongues sweeping gracefully against each other as John held Sherlock’s head tightly, whimpering and moaning into Sherlock’s open mouth.

Sherlock wanted to swallow those groans and keep them inside forever; he wanted to build an altar to John Watson and have those groans be the Te Deum. He wanted to worship this man.

Sherlock pulled away and listened to the soft sigh of disappointment as their lips released and Sherlock moved between John’s legs. Slicking his own cock up with lubricant, Sherlock looked down at John and entwined their fingers beside John’s hip.

“Are you certain? I wont think any less of you if you change your mind...” Sherlock asked cautiously, watching as John nodded his head, their eyes never leaving one another.

The younger man removed his fingers from John’s warmth and positioned his unsheathed cock against the stretched opening; his mind spinning with information and nerves.

“Come here...” John soothed, realising that Sherlock was beginning to freak out, “kiss me, touch me, just feel me, Sherlock. We're here and its okay. It's all okay.”

Sherlock nodded and moved to kiss John; allowing the doctor to take control.

The song changed to another romantic instrumental ballad (near light); John inhaled and whispered “listen to the song,” to force Sherlock’s mind from the flood of panic-inducing information which had entered his brain. Using his free hand, John reached around himself and Sherlock and held Sherlock tightly as he allowed his lover entrance to his body for the first time. Both men gasping and staring at one another with huge eyes as John was penetrated and both men lost their virginities together.

The music played on as both men maintained eye contact; Sherlock rolled his hips slightly and gasped as he passed through the first ring of muscle. John hissed slightly but moved a hand to grab Sherlock’s hip, until Sherlock was fully sheathed inside his lover with a groan.

“Wait… wait...” John begged, his eyes tightly closed with the intense pain and pleasure of the stretching.

“Are you okay?” Sherlock asked, his concern genuine and touching,

John nodded and bit his lower lip “Jus' intense.”

Sherlock moved to place soft kisses on John’s lips and face; his long fingers squeezing John’s from their grip beside them, soothing the older man as he adjusted to Sherlock’s size.

“Okay, you can move,” John insisted, calming his breathing and trying to bear down.

Sherlock rolled his hips again; pulling out slightly he pushed back in, inches at a time, _slowly, slowly, slowly._

“God. I didn’t know...” Sherlock whispered into John’s ear, “I didn’t know it could feel like this...”

“Me neither,” John admitted realising that he had never been so enveloped in love before.

Sherlock wiggled and began to build a steady rhythm; it was still slow and tender. Their lips met for deep and passionate kisses as they sighed and gasped into one another’s mouths, desperately chasing their release but determined for the event to last as long as possible.

“You’re so beautiful,” Sherlock whispered “You are perfection. You are all that makes the world good and right. You make my life complete, John. I love you so much. Please know that… please.”

John gasped as Sherlock’s tip hit against his prostate; arching his back he desperately tried to repeat the sensation, his legs wrapping around Sherlock’s bum as he pulled his lover down further onto his sturdy body. His muscles aching and his body screaming for release but his brain desperate for more of Sherlock,

“I know it. I feel it too. Fuck, I just – adore you.” John whispered, reverently lifting his hand to cup Sherlock's cheek.

“John...” Sherlock choked, “John, my John, oh god.”

“Faster...” John whispered into Sherlock’s ear, allowing the younger man space to position himself better to push and thrust into John’s pliant and eager body. Sherlock pulled out slightly before pushing back in, angling his hips to thrust against John’s prostate on every pass, _harder, deeper, faster, more, more, more._

“Sherlock!” John groaned, “Oh god, I’m coming!”

Sherlock watched in amazement as John arched his back and wailed with absolute bliss as his cock twitched against his stomach and ropes of white painted his body. John shivered and bucked with the intensity of his orgasm, his eyes rolling back and another high pitched cry ripped from his lips as Sherlock continued gentler thrusts, stroking him through his orgasm with almost reverent dedication.

John grabbed Sherlock and pulled him down for a messy and uncoordinated kiss as John rocked his hips, driving Sherlock closer to his own peak. The detective groaned into John’s mouth, his hips becoming less fluid as he reached the precipice of his arousal and then spilt over with a deep cry and a startled gasp.

John’s own cock gave another twitch as he felt the first pulse of heat flood his insides followed swiftly by another and another. John gasped as he was filled for the first time with Sherlock’s essence and grasped Sherlock’s shoulders to hold him tight and firm against his body as the younger man collapsed onto John’s body with a startled _oomfh_

Sherlock’s eyes were closed and his breathing was irregular as John kissed small kitten kisses along the bridge of Sherlock’s nose and cheeks. The younger man opened his eyes and looked into the unbelievably clear eyes of his lover, realising that his own eyes had become wet.

“You’re crying,” John soothed, his hands stroking up and down Sherlock’s back

“I love you. I thought – I thought id never come back to you – before. When I was away. I didn't expect to return and I would never have known this.” Sherlock gasped as a tear ran down his cheek, “I love you, I love you”

John placed a soft kiss on Sherlock’s forehead, ‘We're here now. Together. Nothing is ever going to come between us again, Sherlock. I promise. I love you too.”

* * *

John had asked Sherlock politely to pull out after a few moments of blissful calm when he began to ache and leak onto the bedding. Unwilling to sleep in a wet spot, the doctor groaned and clenched his arse as he waddled to the bathroom to clean himself up and blow out the candles which had definitely become a fire hazard. He used the loo and cleaned himself up before taking in a wet flannel to clean up Sherlock who was lying bare and unashamed on the bed, staring up at the bright stars and sky.

John cleaned Sherlock’s sticky body and climbed in beside his lover, pulling Sherlock to rest on his chest as they looked up into the air, watching the stars twinkle and the moon glow dominantly in the inky blackness of London’s night.

“I love you to the Moon,” John whispered sleepily into Sherlock’s ear, unsure whether the detective was sleeping.

“I love you 238,855 miles worth,” Sherlock replied with a goofy smile, pulling himself closer in to John’s body and relaxing into sleep.

* * *

**A month later:**

“Where have you been?” John asked with a smile, he was washing up the latest lot of dirty pots that Sherlock had _forgotten_ about during his experiment.

“Out...” Sherlock smiled coyly, “I have a surprise,”

“Oh god. It’s not mice again is it?” John grinned, lifting an eyebrow playfully.

Sherlock shook his head and began to unbutton his shirt, smiling as he realised he had John’s full attention. He pulled the shirt open and left it hanging from his shoulders as he bared the cling film wrapped torso,

“What did you do?” John gasped, drying his hands on a tea towel,

Sherlock peeled away the wrap and showed John his newest experiment,

Where there once was a pinky silver bullet wound, there was now a silvery and very, very detailed Moon. The scar completely covered by a tattooists ink whilst around it glittered smaller stars set around a dark blue background. In pretty and delicate writing the numbers 238,855 curved around the bottom of the tattoo.

John stood aghast; the art was unbelievable but the colours stood out perfectly against Sherlock’s pale skin. He could tell it was still raw and pink but he had never seen anything so beautiful. Walking to his lover, he kissed Sherlock deeply and stroked a hand through his hair.

“It’s our new beginning,” Sherlock whispered, “I see you whenever we make love ignore that scar or look away as though you blame yourself. Now it’s forgotten, it’s just us.”

John’s eyes watered and he held Sherlock’s face in his hands as he snogged him desperately “You’re a bloody madman,” he chuckled

“Yes, John” Sherlock smiled,

John allowed Sherlock to redress his tattoo, watching the detective smear a thin coat of cream over the skin before rebuttoning his shirt.

“Just because you’ve done this doesn’t mean you get to escape going to the wedding,” John chastised playfully, “I thought you had run away.”

“Do we have to go?” Sherlock groaned, “Really? It’s pointless John! It's a stupid, antiquated ritual which is no longer respected in modern times. It's stupid!”

“Sherlock!” John chuckled, “You are your brother’s best man. Yes, you have to go! And if you ruin Greg’s wedding, then you definitely won’t be allowed any more cases. Plus, I have your mothers mobile number… I only have to call her and she'll come over and collect you.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes playfully and threw up his hands in mock annoyance “Fine, fine! I shall go and put on my ridiculous top hat!”

“I think you look sexy in it. Maybe I’ll let you have me later wearing only your new tattoo and your hat,” John joked ( _not really. That seriously was an insanely sexy thought)_

Sherlock gasped and flushed “Dr Watson. You terrible deviant.”

“That’s why you love me,” John grinned devilishly

“Hmmm 238,855 miles worth,” Sherlock smiled back and strolled into the bedroom to dress for his brother’s wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much! I hope you enjoyed my ridiculous, smutty and cute story!


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